A Series of Misunderstandings
by trollnexus
Summary: HPDM slash, EWE. When Harry is running away from overzealous reporters in Diagon Alley, he crashes into Draco Malfoy, and they both fall to the ground. This leads to a series of misunderstandings from which he might never recover. Well, at least Harry's life was never fated to be boring.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **A Series of Misunderstandings

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and not profit. And also, she is not to be held responsible for the insanity herein.

**Pairings: **Past Harry/Ginny, Harry/Draco, mostly canonical other pairings, and the rest are a surprise, damn it! If you don't like surprises, run away with flailing arms, and watch out for the fruit carts!

**Rating:** Tentatively R (at least, that's what I have in mind eventually). So please don't read if you're not old enough to read things about sex! I don't want your parents mad at me. My home is not angry-parent-proof!

**Warnings: **Very light angst, sexual themes (maybe even actual sex?), pushing the fourth wall, and a slight tendency to be crack-ish at times.

**Summary****:** When Harry is running away from overzealous reporters in Diagon Alley, he crashes into Draco Malfoy, and they both fall to the ground. This leads to a series of misunderstandings from which he might never recover. Well, at least Harry's life was never fated to be boring.

**Author's Notes:** I have finally categorised this as romance and humour. Although there will be parts where I get all serious, for the most part, this story is utterly ridiculous yet without actually being fully crack. I have tried to maintain at least a modicum of logic, you know? This will be limited third-person, though, so please do not take any of these characters' words at face value. No one is omniscient here, and sometimes they will be completely wrong. In a fun way.

Alright, alright, I'll shut up now. Enjoy!

* * *

**A Series of Misunderstandings**

_Chapter One-The Composition of a Discomposed Harry Potter_

Harry Potter was running for his life.

Well, okay, not his _life_, but definitely his sanity.

Behind him, excited reporters were shouting questions at his back, their Quick-Quotes Quills flurrying and fluttering beside them.

"Mr. Potter! Was it true that you had an argument with Miss Weasley in Fortescue's yesterday?"

"Mr. Potter! When do you expect to finish your Auror training?"

"Mr. Potter! What are you carrying in those bags?"

He huffed and weaved through the crowd of Diagon Alley shoppers, dodging people and displays and—

Was that a fruit cart? _Why was there always a fruit cart?_

He swerved, avoiding it just in time, which was more than could be said for one unfortunate reporter, if the crash behind him was to be believed. Harry chuckled darkly. Served those tossers right for thinking they could catch an Auror trainee. He did feel bad for the fruit merchant, though. It seemed that the Boy Who Lived always inadvertently brought trouble with him everywhere he went.

If Harry was thinking straight, he would have realised that he could have Disapparated and saved himself the trouble, but honestly, Apparition only worked well when one wasn't stressed out of his wits. He still had a lot to learn when it came to calming himself down, and the instructors at the Auror Academy were trying their best to beat some tranquillity into him. Until then, however, Harry, practically fresh out of Hogwarts, had yet to learn composure.

Of course, in Harry's path, the very definition of composure was making his way out of an apothecary right at that moment, brushing dust off his robes and meditating on the state of the world around him.

Unfortunately, Harry did not see him until it was too late.

Down they went! Harry's purchases flew out of his hands, spilling all over the streets. Eager photographers caught up to him before the reporters did, and a couple of them were photographing the spilled items. More material for the celebrity gossip magazines._ Extra, extra, read all about it! The Chosen One likes peacock quills! Get one for yourself now, 50% off at Stella's Stationary!_

Most of the photographers, however, were closing in on Harry and the man he crashed into.

Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, was lying on top of a Very Shocked Draco Malfoy.

Green eyes stared into grey, and a loud roaring seemed to fill Harry's ears.

Then the bright flash of a camera went off in his face, and Harry remembered why he was in this position in the first place.

"So-sorry-Malfoy-gotta-go-bye!"

He pushed himself up and ran away, shoving the crowd aside, leaving behind a bemused and bruised man to have to brush even more dust off his robes again.

* * *

Harry sighed as he pulled open the door of the flat he shared with Ginny. Although his shopping trip had been ruined, he was glad to have escaped the reporters. He had learned his lesson. Hogwarts had given him a false sense of security. Now that he was in the "real world," he would have to be more cautious in the future. He made a vow to himself to borrow some books on glamours and disguises from Hermione the next time he saw her.

As he shut the door behind him, he heard an odd shuffling noise. Curiosity piqued, he made his way further into the flat, trailing his fingers along the walls of the hallway. He froze when he reached the doorway of his bedroom.

Ginny was packing her clothes into a trunk.

"Gin, what are you—" He could not help but splutter, the colour rising in his face. Inexplicably, he thought of the embarrassing scene earlier with Malfoy underneath him. Had news reached Ginny already? Was that why she was doing this?

She looked up, her brown eyes widening. "Harry—"

"I see how it is! You tell me everything is okay, only to leave behind my back! I cannot believe that you are so petty as to believe the press over me!" His hands trembled as his heart pounded in his chest.

Ginny opened her mouth as if to start shouting back at him, but then she closed it and shook her head, scowling. Jaw clenched, she waved her wand, and the rest of her belongings flew into her trunk.

She pushed past him and walked out of his life.

* * *

Ginny sighed as she threw herself onto her old bed at the Burrow.

Surprisingly, Molly had not burst into tears when she found her daughter on her doorstep, trunk floating behind her. Instead, she simply nodded sadly and levitated it to her childhood bedroom, patting her shoulder as she did so.

Ginny allowed herself to smile a bit. Ever since the war, her mother had learned the meaning of strength. She had to be strong. Ever since they lost Fred…

The small smile faded. Loss. It seemed abundant in her life lately.

She had not meant to break up with Harry. She had been simply packing away her things for a short trip. Things had been rocky between the two of them in the aftermath of the war, and the tension had bubbled underneath the surface of their supposed fairy tale romance. The argument in Fortescue's had simply been the cauldron overflowing. All Ginny had wanted was a short change of scenery to think about their relationship and figure out what she wanted in her potential life with Harry.

But it seemed that Harry had made the decision for her, as always.

She snorted. Well, how was she supposed to know that he would arrive home right at that moment? She thought his shopping trip would take much longer. The plan had been to pack her things, leave behind a note that explained her absence, and then speak rationally with him about her thoughts and emotions once she calmed down.

Life just did not work that way, though. And when he had been shouting at the utter berk, she had been unable to find it in herself to say a single word back to him. Anything she said would have been angry, bitter, and full of pent-up resentment, and she was tired of being fiery and angry all the time. Being with him had taken up so much energy, energy she could not afford anymore, not after the war and the grieving and the press—

Hm. What _had_ Harry been blathering on about with the press, anyway? Did they do something to him again? Should she expect a new ridiculous article in the _Prophet_ the next day? Would she have to comfort him as he moaned about how he never got any more privacy—

No. He was not her responsibility anymore. Although dating him had been such a good idea back then, when she was young and had worshiped his admirable qualities, it was a heavy burden now. She was so exhausted from always having to comfort him while he used her as a sounding board, never giving her any real comfort in return. Harry was pants at comforting people. In fact, Ginny reflected, the only person back in Hogwarts who was ever any good at comforting people was Luna.

She sat up and opened a nearby drawer, fetching some parchment, a quill, and an inkbottle. She would write a letter to Luna. Sure, Luna was a busy person nowadays, what with her budding career as a wizarding naturalist and her tentative courtship with Rolf Scamander, but one could always count on her to respond to a missive eventually. She was also, as a bonus, the least judgmental person Ginny knew. It would help to be able to vent out her problems to her.

Then, after finishing this letter, she could write another one to Ron and Hermione, explaining the situation. They deserved to know, after all, and she knew that Harry would probably not tell them a very favourable version of events. She did not expect much comfort from them, of course, since Ron had the emotional range of a teaspoon and Hermione was too analytical and they were both really loyal to Harry, but it was less trouble to let them know now than to have to deal with them banging on her bedroom door later.

After the letters, she would draw herself up a nice bubble bath and then go flying on her broom in order to clear her mind. Maybe she could shout into the sky, too. That always helped.

This had not been the way she imagined things would end, but she would have to accept it. Ginny Weasley was a strong woman, damn it. She would recover.

* * *

The morning after the Potter Incident, Draco arrived at the Manor to check up on his parents. The wards let him in with ease, since he was of the blood, and he entered.

Ever since he had passed his NEWTs and dealt with all the war trials, he had moved into his own flat to start his own life. Although his potions marks had suffered during Slughorn's reign, Draco had been determined to improve his knowledge on his own after the war, rigorously studying every potions book he could find. It wasn't as if he had had a vibrant social life, anyway. Most of the Slytherins either didn't return to school or kept to themselves, wary of human contact. And Crabbe…

He shook his head. He did not want to think about Crabbe.

His parents, on the other hand, had decided to huddle together in their dilapidated manor and spend the rest of their lives in eternal solitude, brooding on their bad decisions and wallowing in the past. In an elegant way, of course, but still. Draco had wanted no part of that. He was still young. He had a life to live. He was willing to visit them from time to time, because he still felt some familial loyalty to the people who raised and loved him, but he would not join them.

He placed his cloak on a hook near the door, since they no longer had house elves to take care of such things. Then he made his way to the parlour, where he knew his parents would be breakfasting. Even though it was not technically the appropriate place to have breakfast, his mother desperately craved the sun after living through so much darkness, and their previous breakfasting place had been tainted with the Dark Lord's presence.

As he entered the room, however, his breath caught in his throat.

His father was sitting with his back straight against the ornate chair, his eyes shining bright for the first time since the war. Next to the chair was his mother, her arm draped delicately across the top of the chair like an alabaster ornament. She, too, was rigid, looking like a pristine icicle.

"Father? Mother?"

"Son. What is the meaning of this?" His father levitated a newspaper in front of him, and at first, Draco was too shocked at the sight of his father displaying such magic after so long a hiatus that he missed the headline entirely.

But then his eyes focused on the large print, and it took every ounce of his etiquette training not to gape like an uneducated Weasley.

"_BOY WHO LIVED AND FORMER DEATH EATER CAUGHT IN LOVERS' EMBRACE_!"

There were more words somewhere underneath the headline, but Draco ignored them as he stared at the accompanying picture. There he was, lying helpless under Potter, eyes wide and petrified as his potions ingredients rolled away from him into the streets.

Clearing his throat, he met his father's eyes and rushed to explain. "Father, I—"

Lucius snatched the paper back into his hands and said, in a grave tone, "No explanation is necessary, Draco. I know what you were doing."

"You do?" Draco knew better than to argue indignantly. He wanted to know what his father's conclusions were before making a fool of himself.

"Yes. It is painfully obvious that you have decided to court Potter in private as a way to bringing respect back to our fallen family. You must have been conducting this business for a long time, judging from that photograph."

"W-What? I—"

Narcissa cut off Draco's unpardonable stuttering. "Do not fret, my son. We are not angry about your course of action, although it would have been more prudent to inform us of this beforehand so that we could have been more prepared. Had you shared your plans with us, Draco, we could have taught you more caution so that this affair would not have been splashed across the papers in this unseemly fashion." Her voice trembled at this last part, and she paused.

Lucius nodded in grave agreement and finished for her. "Be that as it may, however, it is understandable that you would harbour some resentment with us due to our…faux pas…during the Lord's reign. We will not hold this against you, because our family unity is more important than any petty emotion. We trust in your growing ability to make your own decisions as an adult, and we give you our blessing to court him."

Draco swallowed in silence for a moment, racking his mind for the proper response. "Yet…what of the heirs you have always wanted from me?"

Narcissa gave a faint smile, and Draco basked in the feeble warmth of it. "There are other ways to have heirs. That is the least of our worries. When a Malfoy has a will, a Malfoy finds a way."

"Go forth, son!" burst Lucius in a most uncharacteristic fashion. "Go do your family duty like the heir you are!"

On that high note, Lucius waved regally, literally sweeping Draco out of the parlour.

Draco gasped and leaned against the newly closed door. Had his parents finally lost their faculties? Should he be contacting their solicitors and claiming power of attorney in their place, since they were no longer mentally fit to maintain the estate?

Yet he could not deny the pleasure of seeing his parents looking genuinely confident for the first time in years. Nothing he had done in the past could bring back the spark in their eyes, but letting Potter fall all over him apparently did the trick. The Chosen One sure worked miracles, in his own bumbling, plebeian way.

His mind worked furiously, wondering how to turn all these unexpected events to his advantage.

Perhaps it was time to send dear old Potty a letter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the reviews, favourites, and follows! It was such a pleasant surprise to see all your support! I hope you enjoy this chapter; I'm working on the next one as you read this.

* * *

_Chapter Two—Ron's Rambling Heroism_

Ron Weasley sat uncomfortably in a comfortable couch at the Granger residence, munching on wafers and trying desperately to keep his mouth closed as he chewed. He could not afford to have Hermione kick his leg again. What if she broke it? Then he would not be fit for Auror training, and then he'd lose his chances of getting a job, and then he wouldn't be able to provide for Hermione, and then her parents would be upset-

Right! Her parents. He was supposed to be paying attention to them.

"...preparing for the wedding-"

"_What!_" A few crumbs sprayed out of his mouth, and Hermione's dreaded leg kicked him again. _A wedding?_ He hadn't even properly proposed yet!

"Yes, Mum," cut in Hermione with gritted teeth as she shot a brief glare at Ron, "it must be a very stressful time for Cousin Christina right now! A wedding consists of so many details, such as the decor, the guest list, the catering, the entertainment...in fact, I read that the most stressful part for most brides is the..."

Ron released a sigh of relief as his girlfriend barrelled on to her mildly interested parents, citing case study after case study. They were talking about some cousin of Hermione's. Right. He and Hermione were invited to said wedding, in fact. He really needed to pay more attention to such things. After all, observational skills were not only essential in his personal life, but also his career!

...and he just lost track of the conversation again, didn't he?

He quickly jumped away from Hermione's approaching leg before it could reach him. "Pardon?"

He didn't bother to address her mother by name. He couldn't call her "Dr Granger," both because the title was foreign to him and because her husband was also "Dr Granger." "Mrs Granger" was also troublesome, because Hermione had once ranted at him that professional women deserved their titles, too, and what if her mother was like Hermione and didn't want to be stripped of her title? Also, there was no way in hell he'd call her "Mum," since one was more than enough, and calling her by her first name was too intimate—hang on, what _was_ her first name—?

Her mother smiled gently at him, cutting his inner ramblings short. "I was just asking about your family, Ronald. How are they doing? Your father was a very nice man, from what I recall."

"Oh! Er, they're doing well. Dad just got a promotion at work, and Mum has just been trying to keep herself busy ever since..."

He trailed off. Was it okay to talk about the war with them? He didn't even know if they had forgiven Hermione yet for sending them off of Australia. Actually, he didn't even know how much Hermione ever explained the situation to them after she gave them their memories back. Man, thinking before he spoke sure was tough. He missed the days where he could just blurt out whatever he liked. But this was for Hermione. He had to be careful for her.

"Ever since Ginny moved out," Hermione finished for him, finally, after his silence had stretched on a tad too long. "She recently decided to move in with her boyfriend Harry, and Mrs. Weasley has been dealing with empty nest syndrome. You remember Harry, don't you, Mum?"

"Oh yes, quite vaguely. The one with the messy black hair?"

"That's our Harry, alright," blurted Ron with a nervous chuckle. "Hair like a hedgehog!" Then he groaned to himself—what a silly joke! He really was losing it. Either that or he was becoming his father.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was biting back a grin, and Ron relaxed. Alright, maybe this wasn't so hopeless, after all.

_Tap tap tap._

Four heads turned towards the window. An owl was fluttering outside, a letter in its beak.

"Oh, looks like you have post, Hermione. Let me get that for you," said her father, opening the window latch.

The owl flew towards Ron, however. His eyebrows rose, even as he held out a hand to retrieve the letter. He wasn't expecting a message.

"Excuse me," he mumbled, not sure if he wanted to read unexpected letters in front of his future in-laws. The Grangers nodded, and he stepped out of the room.

Two minutes later, he ran back in, waving the letter around and shouting incoherently.

"Ronald!" admonished Hermione, blushing at the spectacle he was probably making of himself. "Will you please slow down and tell me what is going on-"

"We need to go!" he said in his best impression of an Auror voice. "Right now!" It was important that she understood the urgency. "Cannot wait!"

She was unmoved, however, jerking her head towards her gaping parents.

"Oh! Er. Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mr, er, Dr, er, yeah! We will visit again soon. Sorry to have to leave so soon! Bye!"

With that, he grabbed Hermione's protesting hand, concentrated with all his might using the part of his brain that normally predicted chess moves, and Disapparated.

* * *

Hermione scowled at her boyfriend as they suddenly appeared on the doorstep of the Burrow. "Ronald Bilius Weasley! Would you mind telling me just what is going on? What could that letter possibly have to say to warrant our swift and rude departure from my parents' house?"

"Harry dumped Ginny!"

"_What?_"

But before Ron could say another word, the door opened, and Molly Weasley peered out, smiling ruefully.

"Hello, dears. So I take it you've heard? Come on in."

As they walked into the warmth and comfort of the Burrow, Hermione snatched the letter from Ron's hands, needing to read the news herself. She perused Ginny's words, mentally underlining key terms and trying to catch the nuances while figuring out the implications. It seemed to be the case that Ginny was…resigned. As if she had been expecting this breakup for a long time and was almost relieved that it was over. Try as she might, Hermione could not seem to find any evidence of regret.

"Mum, where's Ginny?" called out Ron, interrupting her train of thought.

"Oh, she's out flying in the backyard. You know how she's always wanted to be a professional Quidditch player once everything was settled. I guess she's getting some practice now while she's still looking for opportunities to try out."

For some reason, this information did not seem to reassure him. His face grew paler, and he suddenly rushed out towards the back door. Hermione ran after him, her heart sinking as she realised he was probably going out to do something stupid.

When they were outdoors, Hermione looked up into the sky to see a flash of vivid, flowing red hair. She smiled a little. Of all the Weasleys, Ginny's hair was the most beautiful. It was sleek and soft and silky, a great contrast from Hermione's own tangled, frizzy locks. _She_ did not need special potions to look gorgeous. Not that Hermione really cared, of course, but she was so used to admiring Ginny empathically through the eyes of her best friend that she could not help but notice her best qualities.

Now, however, she had to get used to not doing that anymore. From now on, Ginny would be simply her sister-in-law, not her best friend's potential wife.

Ginny manoeuvred gracefully in the air, and even Hermione, who had never been interested in Quidditch or flying, had to admit that she made a breath-taking sight. And now she was diving down, preparing to make what promised to be a spectacular landing, just like one in an illustration she saw in a Quidditch history book she once read out of boredom—

Hermione suddenly noticed that Ron wasn't next to her anymore. He was running towards Ginny, waving his arms around frantically.

"GINNY! DON'T DO IT! NOTHING'S WORTH DYING FOR! I'LL SAVE YOU!"

Hermione sprinted after him. "RON! What are you doing? Stop!"

She had always been able to think quickly under pressure. It was a skill that had saved their arses more than once during the war, the ability that gave her the most praise. Now, as her future husband insisted on being on a collision course with her future sister-in-law, Hermione drew up several spells in her mind, rapidly discarding one after another before finally deciding on the best course of action.

She turned Ron into a rat.

Ginny screamed as she flew past Ron's rodent body and landed into the grass behind him, still recovering from the shock of seeing her brother jump in front of her.

"Ginny! Are you okay?" Hermione rushed over to her, checking for scrapes and bruises.

"I'm fine, but what the hell was that ruddy git thinking, running at me like that? Where is his sorry arse? I'm going to hex him into a—"

"I already took care of that. Look."

Ginny's eyes followed her outstretched finger, only to find her brother scurrying on the grass, squeaking angrily. She and Hermione met each other's eyes and burst into peals of laughter.

* * *

Fifteen minutes and several angry tirades later, the three of them were sitting on the back porch, all fully human and sipping on lemonade.

"Ginny, I got your letter," said Ron. "How are you coping? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied, and Hermione saw the sincerity in her face. "I was shocked and upset at first, but I got over it."

Ron shook his head. "You don't have to put on a brave face around me, Gin. I'm your brother! It's my job to comfort you!"

"No really, I'm—"

She was cut off as Ron pulled her into a crushing hug.

"Oh Ginny! I'm here for you! Don't think that just because I'm with Hermione now I'll abandon you. I can never abandon family! And especially not you! After all you've been through, especially after we left you alone at school while we hunted Horcruxes! Tell me what you want, Ginny, and I'll do it for you!"

"Ron! Let me go! I'm suffocating!"

"I'll never let you go! Not when you're all alone!"

Ginny's eyes desperately locked with Hermione's as her face started to turn blue.

Hermione sighed and pried his arms off of her. He struggled at first, but eventually he gave up the fight. Even though he was physically stronger than Hermione, he had never really been able to resist her touch, especially not since they had finally admitted their feelings for each other.

She shook her head at him. Ron was not normally like this. He usually dealt with his emotions through shouting and violent-but-harmless fist pumps into the air. But then again, he always did seem to think of his sister as a delicate flower, especially when it came to her love life.

And maybe, conjectured Hermione, he was trying harder to be a hero, now that he was in Auror training and now that the press had labelled him as a hero alongside Harry. In fact, since Harry seemed to have given up his role as Ginny's personal hero, Ron probably felt the need to compensate for that loss, since he felt himself the next best person for the job.

"Lunch is ready, everyone!" shouted Molly's voice from inside the house. Hermione put her conjectures away for another time.

Ron was gone in a flash.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "When it comes down to it, no emotional crisis matters to him as much as food does."

Hermione grinned wryly. "Is this an emotional crisis, then?"

"For _him_, maybe." She snorted. "As for me, I'll be fine. I was probably going to dump him anyway. He's nice and he means well, but…"

"But he's never been able to give you the attention you need, yeah?"

"Yeah. He only saw me as a crutch, you know? Just another member of his support group. And maybe that would be okay if he supported me in return, but I just haven't seen that happen lately. I would have liked to give him a chance to eventually grow into that kind of person, but…I guess he didn't want to wait."

"Well, Ginny, there will be other chances with other people," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Yeah." She smiled warmly, and it was a beautiful sight.

Hermione squeezed her shoulder gently and held the door open for her as they both went into the house.

As they sat down at the table, anticipating some of Molly's delicious sandwiches, an owl flew in, bearing a copy of the _Daily Prophet _towards Molly, who was technically the head of the household while Arthur was at work.

"Oh there you are," exclaimed Molly, snatching the paper. "My, my, aren't you late today? I thought we weren't going to get a copy!"

She then turned her attention to the front page—and promptly fainted.

"Oi!" shouted Ron, rushing over to catch her. He staggered under the sudden weight, but Hermione cast a feather-light charm, and he was able to hold her up.

Together, they carried her into the nearest bedroom, which happened to be Percy's old one. Hermione grimaced at the various Ministry propaganda posters hanging on his walls, each one with a smarmy smile and sickly-sweet slogans. In retrospect, it had been pretty obvious that they were a bunch of corrupt wankers.

A shriek pierced through the air.

"Oh no! We left Ginny out there alone! In the kitchen! With all the knives! I'LL SAVE YOU, GINNY!"

Ignoring her boyfriend's ridiculous statements, Hermione shoved him aside and was out the door first, running towards the sound.

Ginny was uninjured, but she was clutching the paper with trembling hands.

"Ginny! What's wrong? What's the paper about?"

She wailed and handed the paper over to Hermione.

Just as Hermione's eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up, she heard the _thump_ of a falling body behind her.

Ron had looked over her shoulder and seen the picture of Harry and Malfoy.

_Well_, thought Hermione, as she tried to revive her boyfriend, _Harry has a lot of explaining to do_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: This chapter was an absolute pleasure to write. I don't know about you guys, but I missed Draco a lot last chapter. Well, he's back, and he'll be back for a while!

I would like to thank Asebi for being my unofficial Beta reader and putting up with my raw, unedited nonsense every morning. If that's not friendship, I don't know what is! Also, I would like to thank the rest of you for reading. It's such a pleasant surprise to see that there are still Drarry fans out there :)

* * *

_Chapter Three—Birds of a Feather, Flock Together_

Harry was having such a strange dream. For once, it wasn't a nightmare about Voldemort or dead people. Instead, he was floating in the air, his outstretched hands reaching in vain towards fruits and peacock quills and blond hair.

_I wonder what Hermione would make of this_, he mused. _Maybe she's read some Muggle psychoanalysis books that would explain this. Why those are any different from Divination, I don't know, but arguing with her is pointless._

_And what would Ron say? If he were here, he'd be reaching out for the fruits, too, munching on any he caught, and he would shout really loudly like he always does, and not even always for a particular reason…_

_...hang on..._

_Is that...his voice that I'm hearing right now…?_

"...HEAR ME, HARRY JAMES POTTER? IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR SORRY ARSE OUT OF BED RIGHT THIS INSTANT, I WILL HEX BOILS ALL OVER YOUR TRAITOROUS BODY—"

Harry quickly jumped out of bed, not wanting boils—

"ARRRRGHHH! Hermione, cover your eyes! YOU BOLLOCKING GIT! WHO SLEEPS NAKED? WERE YOU SLEEPING WITH THE FERRET? LET ME AT HIM!"

Harry, although he was frantically pulling on some pants while glaring at Ron's shouting face in the fireplace, could not let this insult go unaddressed. "WHY WOULD I SLEEP WITH THE FERRET? I MAY HAVE BEEN ABANDONED BY YOUR SODDING SISTER, BUT I WOULD NEVER STOOP THAT LOW—"

"**ENOUGH!**" boomed Hermione's _Sonorus_-amplified voice.

Both men shut up at once. Neither wanted to be on the receiving end of her wand.

"_Quietus_. Alright, Harry," she said, in a deadly calm voice, "May we come in through the Floo so that we can have a calm, rational discussion like the adults we are?"

Harry watched Ron's flushed face with narrowed eyes. "Only if you two promise not to hex me."

Ron opened his mouth, but then he winced. Harry suspected that Hermione had either kicked him or elbowed him in the ribs. "Fine. No hexing," he grumbled. "But you better have a bloody good explanation!"

"Fair enough." He stepped back to give them space to enter his room.

The moment she got through, Hermione handed him the paper.

When he saw the headline and image, he groaned.

Why did this always happen to him? Why? He saved the world. Couldn't they just leave him alone?

As if on cue, the sky outside darkened.

Harry instinctively dived away from the window and Ron yanked Hermione away with him, but it was all in vain.

Hundreds of owls poured into the small bedroom, and the three of them immediately found themselves buried in letters and feathers.

"ARRRRGGGGHHHH!" yelled three voices in unison.

* * *

Half an hour later, the last of the owls had finally departed. Exhausted and covered in paper cuts, the Golden Trio was no longer in the mood to either fight or prevent each other from fighting. In addition, many of the letters were Howlers, so they couldn't have fought, anyway, even with a strong _Sonorus_.

_"HOW COULD YOU CHEAT ON YOUR BEST FRIEND'S SISTER WITH DEATH EATER SCUM…"_

_"I AM A MUCH BETTER CHOICE THAN A MALFOY—PICK ME…"_

_"HEROES ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE BENT…"_

_"MY CHILDREN ARE SCARRED FOR LIFE…"_

And so on. Harry was glad that he had soundproofed his flat. No neighbour deserved to have to hear all that.

"Are you going to read these, Harry?" asked Ron finally, after the last Howler had its say.

"And will you ever learn to put up some post-filtering wards, Harry? Did you even read the book I gave you last Christmas?" snapped Hermione. It seemed that even her composure had a limit.

"I'm sorry, Hermione; I keep learning these lessons the hard way. I'll start reading tonight. And Ron, I don't think so. Can you help _Incendio_ the ones from people we don't know?"

"Let's just chuck them in the fire, mate. I don't think I have the energy to cast that many _Incendios_."

Thus the trio slowly but steadily cleared up Harry's bedroom, keeping only the letters with familiar senders. These consisted of letters from old friends asking if he was okay, and Harry set them aside on his nightstand to answer later.

Then he found one with an emerald green seal, which was embossed with the letter M.

Ron immediately tried to snatch it away. Harry jerked to the side and swatted him away with ease. Honestly, Ron was no match for Uncle Vernon.

"Mate! You can't possibly want to read what that prat has to say! He's the one who got you into this situation in the first place! He obviously orchestrated all of this to sabotage you and Ginny, since he's never liked our family!"

"No! I was the one who crashed into him first, okay? And me and Ginny broke up for a different reason."

"Oh yeah? And what reason is that? What reason can you have for abandoning my sister?"

"I didn't abandon her! She abandoned me!"

"That's not what she said!"

"Well, then she is a twisted, lying bint—"

"OI! THAT'S MY SISTER YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT—"

Suddenly both of them fell as Hermione cast a full body bind on them.

Her exasperated face loomed over both of them. "I. Am so tired. Of you two. Not listening. To. Each. Other."

Harry glared reproachfully at her in response, and he was sure that Ron was probably doing the same, but Hermione had always been good at ignoring reproach. She turned to Ron first.

"Look. Harry and Ginny broke up. End of story. If they want to get back together later on, that is for them to decide, but it is pointless for us to bicker about the past. We heard Ginny's side of the story. Now I think it is time to hear Harry's, so that he, too, can move on from this. _Then_ we will deal with the press and Malfoy and whatever else comes along later. Okay? Blink twice if you agree to behave and listen in silence."

Ron must have blinked twice, because she smiled.

"Good." She released him, and Harry heard him sit up.

"Now as for you, I understand that you are disoriented from the fact that you just woke up—although _why_ you were still sleeping at this hour, I do not know—but we are concerned about you, and we just want to know what happened. I, for one, refuse to believe anything the _Prophet_ prints until I see some real evidence, and a suggestive photograph is not what I consider 'real evidence.' So talk to us, Harry. We are listening."

She released him from the body bind.

Harry groaned, both because he could feel his life spiralling out of his control and because it really did _hurt_ to fall on the floor. He grimaced as he remembered how they had petrified Neville back in first year. It must have been even worse for him, since he had been a little boy without the benefit of Auror training.

As he sat up, he found two pairs of eyes staring intently at him. Even though Ron's lips quivered as if he would like very much to start yelling again, he was obeying Hermione's commands and staying silent. Harry almost smiled. No matter what, his friends had his back.

"Well, the incident with Malfoy was really just an accident. I was running away from a mob of reporters and crashed into him, and, well, you know how the press is."

Ron and Hermione nodded grimly. They knew how the press was.

"And yeah, that's all there is to say on that matter. As for Ginny…well, when I got home yesterday"—had it really only been yesterday?—"I found her packing her trunk. And, well, there's no denying what _that_ meant.

"But I guess in retrospect, it wasn't really a surprise. We just…we never fit together after the war. I mean, you two went through everything together, you know? We didn't. I didn't understand what she went through, and she didn't understand what I went through. We did go through similar things, and we were both in the war itself, but at some point each one of us wanted to talk about our own experiences, and we kept fighting each other over air time. I guess it started with little arguments about the way the other person made tea, and then it kind of built up over time, until…"

"Until what, Harry?" asked Hermione, patting his arm encouragingly.

"Until the argument at Fortescue's." He closed his eyes, remembering how it had escalated to the point where she threw a bowl of ice cream at his head. Thankfully, he had dodged it, and there had been no one in the line of fire, but still. One did not easily forget the terror one felt when one's lover suddenly became an attacker.

"What was the argument about, anyway?" asked Ron.

"I don't even know. I just said something about all the sad memories Diagon held for me, and she cut me off mid-story, and then I got mad, I guess. I don't like being cut off. And then she got mad, too, and started yelling something about how I talk too much and how I never ask her about her day, and by the end of it, we were both being escorted off the property for damaging their bowls."

"Why didn't you tell us about this sooner, mate? Why didn't either of you?"

"What was I supposed to do, Ron, send you a letter saying, 'Hey Ron, how are you? By the way your sister threw a bowl at me today'?"

"You could have come over to our place," murmured Hermione. "You know you're always welcome."

"I didn't want to leave Ginny, even temporarily, at the time. It seemed like the cowardly thing to do. I wanted to just stick out the storm and hope that things would resolve themselves."

"But they didn't."

"No, they didn't."

The three of them sat in silence, staring at the floor.

Then Ron reached over and pick up Malfoy's letter, holding it out like a peace offering. "Here, mate, you might as well read it. I'm sure it'll be prissy and snotty enough to make you crack a smile, at least."

Harry snorted. "What could the prat want, anyway?"

"Only one way to find out, isn't there?"

He nodded, slid his finger under the flap, and broke the seal before taking out the parchment and holding it up to the waning afternoon sunlight.

_Potter,_

_Your conduct yesterday afternoon was absolutely deplorable. Not only did you display a complete disregard for the safety of others in your reckless courtship of the press in a densely populated area, but you also did not have the decency to give me a proper apology after nearly breaking every bone in my body._

Harry rolled his eyes. That delicate, was he?

(He ignored the part of his brain that was inclined to agree that yes, Malfoy _had_ felt very delicate yesterday.)

He read on.

_A civilised human being speaks in complete sentences when offering an apology, I'll have you know. Or at least performs a complete gesture of goodwill. You did neither. Instead, your barbaric response to the situation left a lot to be desired._

(Harry winced at the word and hoped the slimy git would just get to the point.)

_I am, however, a generous man, and I am inclined to give you a second chance at making a proper apology to my injured sensibilities. Enclosed is the Apparition coordinates to my flat. I expect your presence here at nine o' clock sharp tomorrow morning. Lateness will not be tolerated. Do not worry; you are not expected to bring anything in recompense other than the dubious pleasure of your company, but if you do choose to surprise me with a gift, I will not object._

_In the meantime, I wish you a tolerable day._

_Best,_

_Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir to the House of Malfoy_

_P.S. I am partial to truffles._

After he finished reading the letter, there was a stunned silence. Neither Ron nor Hermione could think of a single response to the utter ridiculousness of the request.

"Well," said Ron finally. "I suppose you better get outside and buy some truffles."

Harry smacked him in the shoulder. "I'm not going out there to buy him a damn thing!"

"Harry, you do have to leave the house at some point. And if you're worried about getting mobbed by the press again, I have a book at home you can borrow for glamour spells. You do not have to be afraid to venture out."

Harry whirled to face Hermione. "I am not _afraid_! Has the git's letter addled your brains?"

"I know it has been traumatic for you, Harry." She pulled him into a hug. "After all, your argument with Ginny had taken place in a public space, and then the whole Malfoy thing took place in public, and now you're terrified to leave the house. It's obvious that you are trying to become a recluse. There could be no other reason that you would just wallow around at home like this, when you said yourself that you are not really that upset about Ginny leaving."

"I simply stayed up late last night and overslept, that's all—"

"No one healthy wakes up at three in the afternoon, Harry."

"But—"

"'Mione, maybe we should go. He looks like he could use some alone time."

"Yes, that would probably be best. See you soon, Harry. And remember, we are always here for you."

With that, his two friends entered his fireplace and left him sitting there, clutching a letter and wondering if the entire world had gone bonkers.

* * *

The next morning, Draco woke up to the biggest owl invasion he'd seen since his Hogwarts days. The terrifying part was realising that all the owls were for him. They could barely fit into his bedroom, which was saying something, since his bedroom alone was almost the size of a normal flat. Money could buy anything, except protection from ruddy birds, apparently.

"Back, you vile creatures! Back! I have a wand, and I'm not afraid to use it!"

Of course, none of them paid him any heed, quickly depositing their missives before flying back out the windows.

Howlers started to go off, and Draco buried his head in a plush pillow. But then a particularly aggressive owl yanked the pillow away, and he was soon covered with the effing fowls. He whimpered, cursing his lack of post-filtering wards. It was imbecilic of him, really. After he moved out of his parents' home, he had vowed to be the opposite of them in every respect, including being the opposite of paranoid. Now he saw that the opposite of paranoia was sheer stupidity, and he wished he knew this _before_ getting attacked by these infernal creatures.

Finally, the last bird flew away, leaving Draco's floor covered in angry letters. He sighed. He would vanish them all later. Right now, he had an apology date to prepare for.

He cast a _Tempus_, only to fall out of his bed and onto a pile of letters, swearing in the most undignified fashion he could muster.

It was 8:50! How could he have overslept so badly? Malfoys never oversleep!

He rushed through his usual morning preparations, not even bothering to look in the mirror. He knew that if he caught sight of his handsome self, he would start preening and primping, and he _really_ did not have time for that. He could always preen later.

Just as he pulled on a well-tailored pair of trousers, the wards sang. Potter. He was here!

Draco glided towards the door. Malfoys do not run, and they do not let themselves get caught looking out of breath. It was less of a sin to make a guest wait than it was to look undignified in front of said guest.

He threw open the door in the most regal way possible, hoping to impress Potter with the power of his presence.

Well, Potter looked impressed, alright. His eyes were wide, his mouth was open, and he let out a soft moan.

Draco allowed himself a moment to preen in front of this imperfect substitute for a mirror.

But he quickly deflated as he realised that Potter was not moaning in pleasure. Instead, he was moaning in terror, pointing his trembling finger at the top of Draco's head.

"I've heard of this happening before, but I never thought the rumours were true! Oh, Malfoy! No wonder you sent me such a weird letter! You desperately needed help, but you were too proud to ask directly, so you decided to goad me into coming here instead! Oh, it's okay, I'll find someone else that can help you, much better than I can!"

His babbling concluded, Potter turned tail and ran away, arms flailing.

Draco blinked, slowly. What in Merlin's name had just happened?

Well, he was definitely not going to _run_ after Potter. What kind of uncultured monkey did that sort of thing? If Potter wanted to transport himself in such an archaic way, fine, but Draco would never join him, no matter how important it was to his family's interests that he court him.

He _was_ curious about the finger pointing, though. That had been truly odd.

Now that he no longer had a date to look forward to, Draco allowed himself to look in a mirror at last—

Only to let out a long, tortuous groan that totally did _not_ sound suspiciously like "_Oh, Merlin's saggy left arse cheek!_" Malfoys were too refined to say such crass things.

Yet really, even if he had said such a thing, he had good reason: there, on his perfect platinum blond hair, rested a long, white feather.

He had greeted Potter at the door with a _feather_ in his hair! No wonder he ran away!

Draco brushed it away angrily before hiding his face in his hands.

He would have to recuperate for a long, long time before he could face Potter again.

* * *

Harry was running pell-mell through the streets again, his mind whirling.

Pale, perfectly smooth skin. Flawless features. Feathers growing out of his head. The conclusion was painfully obvious, especially after having heard all the hushed stories about puberty and transformation from Fleur and her family.

Draco Malfoy was a _Veela_. And when Harry had crashed into him the other day, the physical contact _must_ have triggered some sort of inert gene in his bloodstream, thus activating the secret Veela abilities he always had dormant inside of him!

And now he was in Veela-love with Harry, which was exactly why he was acting all weird. Otherwise, why would he have looked so dishevelled when he opened the door that morning? Malfoys never look dishevelled—unless they were stressed from going through the hormonal changes that came from being a _Veela!_

There was no way in hell he could sacrifice himself to Malfoy's Veela whims, however. Harry had done enough sacrificing, thank you very much. Yet there must be something he could do.

Harry was not foolish enough to think that he alone could solve this problem, of course. In fact, the war had taught him that there was no shame in asking for help, especially when things were getting out of his control. Sure, asking for help had not gone very well when it came to Ginny, but he was sure that the rest of the world was more reasonable than that.

So really, there was only one thing to do in this Malfoy situation: he had to get to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Thank you for the reviews and support! Ah, I'm just so excited about this story. Can you believe that I just started this one day on a whim, simply because I was restless from pining after a certain author, wishing she would come up with new stories soon? Yet now this has taken on a life of its own, and I can just feel the characters in my head growing. I highly doubt this will be a highly praised masterpiece, but it's mine, you know? It's mine, and I get to share it with you all, and that makes me so happy. (Well, alright, it's mine as far as the plot line goes; the characters and the universe in which they live all belong to J. K. Rowling, but you know what I mean!)

Alright, enough of my blubbering. On with the show!

* * *

_Chapter_ _Four—Malfoys Can Be Alluring, Too_

The Ministry personnel at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had a situation on their hands, a situation with unruly jet-black hair and a lightning bolt scar.

"We're sorry, Mr Potter, but Veela are out of our jurisdiction," explained the oldest and gravest of them, while sparing a sneer for her obviously star-struck co-worker. Honestly, their paperwork was much too important for her to _drool_ all over it! "In fact, it is debatable whether or not Veela should be considered 'creatures' in the first place."

The Chose One's face fell. "Oh, I see. Then what should I do? He desperately needs help, but I really don't want to mate with him, and he wouldn't come near me with a ten-foot pole under normal circumstances. I'm pretty sure he's simply the victim of his hormones—"

"Oh!" exclaimed the star-struck co-worker, delicately covering her lips in a gesture of surprise while fluttering her eyelashes. _She_ looked like she knew what it was like to be a victim of one's hormones. "How tragic! We shall do our best to help you anyway, Mr Potter!"

"We most certainly shall not!" spluttered the elderly employee, but her protest was drowned out by Mr Potter's effusive expressions of gratitude.

"Oh thank you! And I shall be leaving a _very_ generous donation for you guys later, since you're going through all this trouble for me."

The older employee immediately shut up, calculating the benefits of a donation from the Saviour of the Wizarding World himself. Not only would they all be able to afford those fashionable new peacock quills—their current dove quills were getting stale and out of vogue—but the political implications were staggering. A donation from Harry Potter to a Ministry department was a sign of approval from him, one that would quell any fears of him starting up a post-war rebellion. And the fact that it would be _their_ department specifically to which he donated…

By the time she had blinked the avaricious gleam out of her eyes, Harry Potter had left, having already given the star-struck co-worker the Apparition coordinates of his friend's flat.

"Alright," she said, wiping away her drool and drawing herself up into an authoritative posture. "Which one of us is going to go capture the Veela?"

* * *

Draco Malfoy was just fastening the buttons on his pure white dress robes when the wards chimed.

He was not expecting company, but a Malfoy does not balk at any unexpected social encounter. No, a Malfoy shines no matter what, and he headed towards the door to prove it. Who knows, it may have even been Potter, there to apologise for his rude departure earlier that day. Draco's heartbeat sped up, and he checked himself out in the mirror this time, for Malfoys do not make the same mistake twice.

When he opened the door, he was disappointed to find no Potter on his doorstep. Instead, there were two wizards, and their eyes immediately raked over his body.

He set aside his disappointment and basked in the attention, regaining some desperately needed confidence after the fiasco with Potter that morning. This time, he knew from his mirror check that he was immaculate. Nobody's skin had ever glowed like his did at that moment, and his blond hair was softer and silkier—and more feather-free!—than ever, thanks to the high-quality conditioning potion he used every time he showered. Noting that these morosely-dressed men appeared to be here on some undoubtedly unpleasant official business, he put on his best smile, purring, "How may I help you gentlemen today?"

"Oh my god, he's using the Allure on us!" was the last thing Draco heard before a panicked Stunner hit him, knocking him unconscious.

* * *

Five hours later, the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures stood in the charred remains of what used to be their offices, yanking out his hair.

"You guys are _idiots_," he growled at what remained of his scared staff. Five of them were currently in St. Mungo's being treated for gruesome hexes. In fact, the Healers were not sure whether or not the chief clerk would ever get her right thumb back.

None of them were going to press charges against Malfoy, though, because they were too ashamed of the fact they had brought him in here in the first place.

"There were so many things wrong with what happened today. Shall I list them all?"

No one answered him, because they knew from long experience that all of his questions were rhetorical and not to be addressed, especially the ones that involved the word "list."

"First of all, we do not go after Veela. Okay? We might go after werewolves, and we might go after centaurs, and we might even go after ghosts, but we do _not_ approach Veela. They have always been absurdly influential in the corridors of power, for obvious reasons, and if word gets out that we even _thought_ of 'persecuting' one of them, we could be in big trouble.

"Second of all, Veela are _female_ by definition. There are no such thing as male Veela, no matter how bloody attractive you might think a man is." Several people, especially the wizards, turned away from him at the word "attractive," blushing uncomfortably. "Did any of you even _think_ to do at least five seconds of research? We are not the _Prophet_. We happen to have a higher standard of credibility to uphold.

"Third of all, as representatives of the Ministry, we are not supposed to be easily swayed by fame or money. Harry Potter may have saved the world as we know it, but even he deserves to be treated like another human who does not know your job as well as you are _supposed_ to. _You_ are the authority figures in this situation, not him!

"Fourth of all, we do _not_, under _any_ circumstances, _Stun_ people or commit any other sort of physical action against them unless they pose a physical threat. Again, perceived attractiveness does not count as a threat.

"Fifth of all, and most importantly, nobody brings a Malfoy to this office, _ever_. Do you remember what happened the last time we let a Malfoy near us?"

They remembered. The whole embarrassing incident with the Hogwarts hippogriff was not easily forgotten. How could they have lost a hippogriff, anyway? They were not exactly the smallest of creatures. And also, they had come under fire for even trying to execute it in the first place—such extreme measures were usually never employed by this department.

He took a deep breath. "I have half a mind to fire the whole incompetent lot of you right now, but I won't. You know why?"

No one bothered to ask. They simply kept their heads down and waited.

"Because if Mr Malfoy ever decides that the damage he dealt us today was not sufficient enough to count as revenge, I want to be able to use at least one of you as a human shield."

Speech finished, he conjured a bucket of water and a mop and tossed them towards the nearest person. "Now clean this up!"

* * *

Draco stormed into his flat, fuming.

The nerve of those people! Veela, indeed! When everyone knew that every single drop of Malfoy blood was pure and untainted by such creatures! And he was not female, for Merlin's sake!

He sank into the most comfortable chair in his study, rubbing his temples and reflecting on his marvellous wandwork. It had been so _satisfying_, to see those imitation mahogany desks reduced to ashes, to hear the chorus of screaming Ministry workers as they fought to restrain him, only to have their conjured ropes turn to ashes, too—

Well, okay, maybe the screaming wasn't really _that_ pleasant. After all, Draco had heard enough tortured screaming during the Dark Lord's stay in the Manor. But still. He had made sure not to hurt those idiots _too_ much, and he was perfectly justified in being angry after being manhandled and treated as something less than human.

Of course, he had not been completely insensible during his fit of rage. In between hexing this idiot and that idiot, he had heard one of them moan, "Oh, Chosen One or not, we shouldn't have listened to him! Of all the 'friends' he could have had, why _this_ one?"

Draco growled at the bookshelves across from him. Potter. It was always bloody, sodding Potter, wasn't it? The source of all his problems since the day he had had the misfortune to meet him. Saint Potter, always obeyed, never questioned, just because he had a stupid, ugly scar on his forehead and a Mudblood mother who had saved him from ol' Snake-face.

Honestly, was it even worth trying to court the buffoon? Perhaps he should just give up this farce right now and find some nice woman to marry and spawn offspring with. The owl attack and the trip to the Ministry were really only a fraction of the trouble Potter could cause him in the long run if he continued this idiotic pursuit of his affections.

Just as Draco stood up to compose a Howler, however, he suddenly remembered the hopeful expressions on his parents' faces when they thought he was going to try and restore the Malfoy honour through an alliance with the Boy Who Lived.

He sat back down.

If he titled his head a certain way and looked at this situation from a different angle, perhaps it was a _compliment_ that Potter thought he was a Veela. After all, wasn't the prat practically related to that one named Fleur that had visited Hogwarts during their fourth year? Even though Draco was not really interested in her, he had to admit that she was beautiful, aesthetically pleasing. To have Potter equate him to her, thinking him to be one of her kind…

Draco smiled. Harry Potter was attracted to him. So attracted that he refused to believe it, preferring to think that Draco had some sort of supernatural allure that compelled his interest, rather than admitting that he was simply interested because Draco was just that handsome. Oh, Potter! Always so good with the denial! Just like how he always denied that he went out of his way to attract fame, thinking that his false modesty would be believable. But Draco saw through him. He always did. He had been seeing through Potter since the day he had rejected him for a Weasley.

And now, perhaps Draco would like to see through Potter's clothes, too.

He summoned a bottle of spirits, a glass, a spare parchment, and a self-inking quill. There were plans to be made, after all. Courting a blockhead was not an easy task. He would have to find a way to woo Potter so well that no amount of oafish denial would protect him from falling prey to Draco's charms.

He had never felt this excited about anything before, not even moving out of his parents' house.

Potter will be his.

* * *

Harry was exhausted. Auror training really was tough, and they had put him through the wringer today, what with practice duels, puzzles, and an entire full-length obstacle course. Fortunately, he had been running around a lot lately, so he at least had better endurance than some of his fellow trainees. While many of them were out of breath after the relay run, Harry was still breathing somewhat normally.

There was still a lot he needed to learn, though, like how to fall gracefully after getting pounced on by an overzealous Ron Weasley. He grimaced, rubbing his bruised hip. Even though Hermione and Ron had always teased and/or scolded him about his "saving people thing" in the past, it seemed that Ron was the one with that problem now, constantly feeling compelled to be the hero. The exasperated instructors had had to pull him aside at some point, presumably reminding him that they were a _team_ now. There was no more You-Know-Who, and he was no longer the only one with the burden on his shoulders, and it was okay to let other people take care of themselves.

Especially Harry, damn it. He figured that perhaps Ron felt some leftover guilt for abandoning him and Hermione during the Horcrux hunt and for immediately taking Ginny's side after the breakup. Maybe this was Ron's way of atoning for all his jealousy and insecurity and rashness in the past.

Which was all very well and good, of course, but Harry wished he had found a...calmer...way to atone. Now he began to absolutely dread those three little words, "I'll save you."

Harry pondered the effects of the war on his best friend's sanity as he stepped outside the Ministry premises. Normally, one could leave through the Floo, but the fireplaces were getting old and somewhat unreliable, and Harry was not in the mood to end up in Knock-Turn Alley, thank you very much. Besides, the weather was nice outside today.

As he looked up at the beautiful, brilliantly blue sky, he suddenly found himself being slammed against a wall.

"ARRRGGGHHH WHAT—"

He cut himself off as he found himself staring into stormy grey eyes.

"Good afternoon, Potter," purred Malfoy before leaning in to breathe against Harry's earlobe.

"Wh-what-"

"What, indeed. 'What' is a very useful interrogative word, you know. One can use it to ask so many questions, such as, 'What's on the agenda today?' or, 'What can I do to properly apologise to that poor Draco Malfoy, who I've wronged,' or, 'What the hell was I thinking when I accused Draco Malfoy of being a Veela and sent Ministry officials after him, without even bothering to ask him if he even _needed_ help?'"

Malfoy paused, gasping for breath into Harry's ear after that long-winded statement, and Harry tried his best to ignore how nice that felt. Maybe it would help if he paid attention to the words instead.

"S-So, you're not a Veela?"

"No. And you would have figured it out in two seconds if you had just paused to ask me about it. I'm hurt, Potter. It's almost as if you wished to take away my agency, in order to satisfy your craving to be a hero."

Harry snarled, struggling against Malfoy's body for the first time since he had slammed him against the wall. "I do _not_ have a 'craving' for heroism, okay? Maybe Ron does, but I—"

"HARRY! WHAT'S GOING ON?" shouted a familiar voice.

_Oh no, speak of the Devil—_

"IS THAT MALFOY?"

_Don't say it, don't say it—_

"I'LL SAVE YOU!"

Panicking and not wanting Ron to tackle them both, Harry did the only thing he could.

He wrapped his arms around Malfoy and Disapparated.

* * *

He stumbled as he and Malfoy landed in Harry's living room. Malfoy held him steady before he could fall, though.

The git chuckled.

"My, my, Potter, isn't this a bit forward of you? What makes you so confident that I would be interested in going back to your place, before we've even had a proper date yet?"

Harry jumped away from him, rubbing his forearms, feeling as if they burned from the touch of Malfoy's skin.

"I did _not_ bring you here on purpose, okay? I panicked, and all I could think about is reaching a safe place! We should just be happy I didn't Splinch us!"

"A safe place from what? The abominable company of a Weasel? I guess your taste really has improved over the years. I'm so relieved to hear that."

"No! It's just—you don't know what Ron's been like lately—oh, why am I even bothering to explain this to you, you git? Get out of my house!"

"No," said Malfoy simply, smirking slightly.

"Why the hell not? You are not welcome here! Isn't it in bad taste to insist on staying where you're not welcome? Shouldn't this be violating some sort of pureblood code?"

"Oh, Potter, I'm pretty sure I'm welcome. Part of you has always welcomed me. You just don't realise it."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. He was pretty sure the prat was just lying through his teeth to get under his skin, like always, but he didn't know how to respond to these lies.

Malfoy seemed to ignore the gesture, continuing on. "Come now, Potter. Think about it. Why were you so willing to assume that I was a Veela, without even asking questions or thinking rationally about it? I mean, have you ever, in your life, met a male Veela?"

Harry thought about it for a moment. "No," he admitted.

"Then why did you think that I would be the first one? Did you feel threatened by my looks, Potter? Did you worry that maybe, just maybe, I was using some sort of Allure on you?"

Harry opened his mouth to deny it, but Malfoy was moving closer and closer, and it was pretty hard to lie to a guy that was literally in his face.

"Oh, Potter. You have so much to learn about our world. I could show you our world in a clearer light, you know, much better than your Weasel and your Mud—Muggleborn friend."

Harry raised an eyebrow when Malfoy choked on the word. Why was he bothering to censor himself?

"That's okay, Malfoy, I think I've seen enough to last a lifetime. I'll just quietly live the rest of my life being a normal, run-of-the-mill wizard, thanks."

"You will never be 'normal,' Potter, and I think it's high time that you accepted that."

With that, Malfoy slammed him against the wall again. Harry groaned as he felt a bruise forming on his shoulder. Honestly, what was wrong with him? Why did he not avoid him this time? He had had Malfoy in front of him this whole time; it wasn't like he had snuck up on him. Yet even now, he could not bring himself to struggle against him, despite the might of his Auror training. Why couldn't he escape?

"Malfoy, whatever spell you're using on me, take it off."

He chuckled. "I'm flattered that you think that I am powerful enough to control your will using wandless, wordless magic, but no, I'm not using a spell. I _could_ take something else off, though, if you'd like." His fingers slid under Harry's collar, caressing his neck.

Harry closed his eyes and shivered, both from the touch and from shame. This was so not happening. He could not be pressed against a wall by a flirtatious Draco Malfoy in his own flat and _not_ be fighting him off. Yet that was exactly what was happening, and he didn't know what to do.

Just then, the Floo roared to life. "HARRY! ARE YOU HOME? WHY DID YOU APPARATE AWAY WITH THE FERRET? DID HE USE AN IMPERIOUS ON YOU?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but he grinned, and the sight made Harry catch his breath despite himself.

"Well, Potter, perhaps this is not the best time to do this, and I can't say I blame him for being concerned with every ounce of that rodent brain of his. Let's just have dinner tomorrow, shall we? I will pick you up tomorrow at seven o' clock, now that I know where you live. Wear something decent, preferably something that doesn't make me want to gouge my gorgeous eyes out."

With that, Malfoy Disapparated, just as Ron rushed into the room.

"Harry! Oh, thank Merlin you're safe! Where'd he go?"

Harry banged his head against the wall behind him. He wished his life would just be peaceful for once.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Remember back when I said that any other pairings I'd have in this story would be strictly canonical? Well, apparently the voices in my head do not agree. I don't know what will come out of the events in this chapter; all I know is that this story is getting even crazier than Harry's life. It has a life of its own!

Anyway, thanks for all the reviews! I really do enjoy your feedback :)

* * *

_Chapter Five—Draco Is Actually Terrible at Improvising_

After he had left Potter's house, Draco headed to a Muggle Italian restaurant to make his reservation in person, since he could not owl or Floo them, and he did not possess one of their communication devices. When the host had looked at him curiously, Draco explained that he had just moved into town and didn't have a "telephone." Due to Draco's magnificent acting skills, the host lapped up his story easily, launching into a longwinded anecdote about the complications of moving and all the shenanigans it entailed. Draco had simply gritted his teeth and listened politely, nodding in all the right places until another Muggle came along to be seated. Then he had made his escape.

Honestly, Muggles were so _dreary_. He still could not comprehend how they could function without magic. No wonder Granger had studied furiously in school—she must have been desperate to escape the ennui of her lowly origins and become a witch. It was too bad that she would never be as cultured as a pureblood, of course, but Draco had to concede that she had other qualities to make up for the deficiencies into which she was born.

He grimaced at the charitable thought he had just had towards her, but he had to make a habit of thinking these thoughts if he wanted to have any hope of truly wooing Potter. Although he could simply think of her as a Mudblood inside his head and treat her like a witch outside of it, today's near slip-up in front of Potter had taught him that it was too much trouble to have to hide his fundamental beliefs like that. Thus, to be more relaxed and successful in his interactions with Potter in the future, he had to change the beliefs themselves, or at least some of them, preferably the ones that mattered little to him but mattered a lot to Potter. The belief that Granger was a competent witch was a good example. It cost him nothing to hold a grudging respect toward her, since Potter probably wouldn't expect him to speak of her with glowing praise, anyway, and it would bring him bountiful rewards in the long run.

The Weasel, on the other hand, had been more difficult to like or even respect grudgingly. What were his good points, anyway? It definitely wasn't his looks, since his face looked like a baboon's red arse. It wasn't his brains, since he didn't have any. It wasn't his wealth, since he lacked that, too.

Draco had wracked his brains many times since the moment he decided to court Potter, trying to figure it out.

That late afternoon at Potter's flat, however, Draco found his answer. The Weasel was protective and loyal. These were not the most glamourous of traits, but Draco was more than happy to resign himself to them. It wasn't a bad thing to know that Potter had a friend that would protect him from unwanted suitors. All Draco had to do was make sure that _he_ was not among the unwanted.

Hence the reservation at the Muggle restaurant. He did not want their first date to be intimidating, and a restaurant that was both casual and Muggle would make Potter relax. A lot more could be accomplished with a relaxed Potter.

_Mm, indeed. _But no, now is not the time to fantasise.

Contrary to popular belief, Draco was not as narrow-minded as he was in Hogwarts. He was actually very versatile now, a skill that he had had to develop during and after the war, when he had to lie to the Dark Lord to his face and then recover his social standing after his reign ended. It had taken a few dark years of living in constant uncertainty to teach him that tenaciously clinging onto a set of beliefs without compromise was fatal, but once he learned that lesson, he never forgot it. Thus he explored, tried things out, and even spent some time in the Muggle world where no one would spit in his face.

That was really one advantage he had over Potter, he thought proudly. Potter was sheltered, always hiding in his tight-knit circle of friends. Draco had no meddling friends to shield him from new experiences, so he was more open to them.

Thus he knew how to take him by surprise!

He was just entering his flat, patting himself on the back, when he stopped short. There was an unexpected head floating in his fireplace.

"Ah, there you are, Draco! Just the man I wanted to see!"

"Blaise," he breathed. "What are you doing here?"

The disconcerting part was not the fact that Blaise was speaking to him. After all, they had been schoolmates, and it was perfectly reasonable for them to catch up on the times once in a blue moon, even though Blaise had never shown any interest in his company before.

No, what bothered Draco was the fact that Blaise was beaming. Zabinis _never_ beam.

"I'm here to thank you, of course!"

"Thank me? Whatever for?"

"Oh, Draco, you can drop the coy act. I know what you did."

"You do?"

"Yes, I do. It was so obvious, once I stopped to think about it. You would never, under normal circumstances, allow yourself to be photographed in such an undignified fashion—lying under Potter? _Really?_—unless you had an ulterior motive! And I've finally figured it out!"

"Really? Do tell me, then," drawled Draco, curious to see what the wanker had come up with.

"You were simply repaying the debt you owe me, using your Slytherin subtlety."

Draco raised his eyebrows but said nothing, gesturing for him to continue.

"Oh, Draco! I knew you could never forget the time I saved you from that potion Longbottom nearly spilled on you, even though you never mentioned it even once after it happened."

Draco only just barely remembered the incident. That oaf was spilling things onto everyone, like usual, and Blaise had dived in front of Draco just as the potion was about to hit him, breaking out in rashes immediately as a consequence. Draco hadn't considered it a debt-worthy action at the time, though, since he had been stressed out about how to kill Dumbledore.

He played along anyway, since he was always eager to pay off his debts, known or otherwise. Being in debt was a weakness. "You know I never forget anything, Blaise."

Blaise beamed again. "Oh, thank you, Draco! When you repay your debts, you sure repay them in style!"

"Mhm. So...how do you like the effects of my repayment so far?" Draco still had no idea what the hell Blaise was nattering on about, but he knew how to tease out information.

"It's wonderful! Do you know how long I've waited for Ginevra to finally leave that git? Oh, what am I saying, of course you do, which is why you orchestrated all this! Your plan was a smashing success! You did better than I ever could!"

"Mhm." What the bloody heck? Blaise was into the Weaselette? Draco had honestly forgotten about her, choosing to view her as irrelevant, since it was obvious that Potter was attracted to him and not her. It was nice to know that they had officially broken up, though. That made things easier for him. And if Blaise could keep things that way for free, it would be even better.

Wait, didn't he hate her for being a blood traitor or something?

"Well, Blaise, I wasn't completely sure about this gesture, you know. I had rather feared that you would never be openly interested in her despite her…charms, due to her family's political stances." Draco tried his best not to choke on the words, but thankfully, Blaise was being self-centred, as always, and didn't notice his eye twitch.

"Yes, it really was a risk, Draco, which makes your gesture just that much more valuable, and you know it. But it paid off on your end. I guess the heart wants what the heart wants, and if you're going to give me this chance with her, then how could I possibly let it go to waste?"

Draco resisted the urge to wince. Was this what happened when one became horribly infatuated with someone? Did all infatuated people turn into Hufflepuffs, spouting trite nonsense? He hoped he'd never become like this around Potter, no matter how far into the courtship they got.

"So, Blaise, what will you do, now that I've so generously laid down the groundwork for you?"

"Oh pish-posh, I shan't tell you that! A Slytherin never reveals his secret plans!"

"Well, they do when those plans were only made possible by someone else's effort!"

Blaise smirked. "Don't try to trick me, Draco. You were the one who owed me the debt in the first place. I do not owe you for doing something you were already supposed to do. Anyway, ta-ta. I have places to go."

With that, Blaise closed the Floo connection.

Draco stared at the empty fireplace for long moments, wondering if this unexpected development would come back to bite him in the arse.

Then he shrugged. He was a Malfoy. He knew how to improvise if necessary.

* * *

Luna Lovegood smiled serenely as she sat across from Ginny in Fortescue's the next morning. She was quite enjoying her spaghetti and cheese ice cream. Although the original owner had been abducted by Death Eaters during the war, the new owner did a good job, too, and he was more open to her strange requests. She liked that. It was nice to be in a place where people did not immediately dismiss her as "loony."

Ginny was picking at her mint ice cream, sighing silently. Luna wondered if it had to do with the fact that the owner kept glaring at her warily for some reason. She frowned a bit, feeling concerned for her friend. No matter how nice people were to her, she would not tolerate them mistreating her friends.

She reached across the table and held her hand. Even if Ginny was not willing to enter into a verbal discussion of her clearly troubled emotions, nonverbal communication worked wonders, too. She remembered how much better Harry had seemed after she had held his hand after Sirius' death. In fact, if people only held hands more often, the world would be a much better place, and the Nargles wouldn't be able to cause their mischief.

Ginny smiled slightly at the comforting gesture and opened her mouth to say something—

Only to let out a shriek as a spell struck the window between them.

"You traitor!" shouted a very infuriated Blaise Zabini from the doorway of the ice cream parlour.

Luna frowned fully this time, wondering why Zabini would make such a spectacle of himself, when he was normally so calm and collected. Perhaps he was infected by Wrackspurts and wasn't thinking straight? She fumbled around in her purse, trying to look for her Spectrespecs.

Ginny, meanwhile, was shouting back in between casting hexes, all of which he dodged. "Really, Zabini? You're going to cause a scene just because I'm a 'blood traitor'? Grow up! The war is over, and you lost!"

"No! That's not what I mean, you little—"

"_Incarcerous!_"

Ropes wrapped themselves around Zabini, and he shut up as they gagged him.

"You will be paying for our damaged window, Mr Zabini," said the ice cream parlour owner coldly, looming over his prone body before blasting him out of their doors with a gust of wind. "We shall be owling you.

"And as for you," he said, turning to Ginny, "you are henceforth banned from our business. You seem to always bring trouble every time you come here, and we cannot afford to be replacing broken items with every visit from you."

He threw an item at her and she caught it with her Quidditch reflexes. She immediately disappeared. It must have been a Portkey, although why he stocked those, Luna did not know.

Then he turned to Luna, who was really frowning now. He smiled and nodded gently at her, as if that would make everything okay.

"You may continue enjoying your ice cream, madam; I apologise for the fact that you had to witness all of that."

Luna shook her head. "That's okay, sir; thank you, though. I don't think I will be coming here again. I have a feeling that the heliopaths will be coming for you soon, after all the anger experienced here today, and I'd rather not be here when that happens."

Leaving him flabbergasted, she tossed a few Galleons onto the table before floating out of the parlour. She had a distressed friend to find.

* * *

"Calm down, Blaise," said Draco exasperatedly into the fireplace. Honestly, couldn't the man handle his own love affairs by himself, without so much drama? You didn't see _Draco_ pestering everyone about his own courtship of Potter, and surely _that_ was much more challenging and complex and noteworthy than any courtship of a _Weasley_. "Speak in complete sentences, and do try not to howl so much. Merlin, I miss how suave and standoffish you used to be. You've softened over the years."

"She was holding hands with _Loony Lovegood!_" he wailed, ignoring Draco's wittily snide remarks. "How am I supposed to calm down?"

"I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation, Blaise. Lovegood is already courting someone else, and besides, Ginevra has absolutely no interest in birds. Don't you remember all those blokes she dated before Potter?"

The mention of other men did not seem to improve Blaise's mood. "Well, who knows? Maybe she dated so many because she was denying her sexuality!" He let out an anguished groan. "Ugh! You have to fix this, Draco!"

"_Me_? Why do _I_ have to fix _your_ non-existent love life?"

"Because you were the one who offered her up to me in the first place!"

Draco whined, but he couldn't argue with Blaise's twisted logic, not if he really wanted to be free of that stupid "debt."

"Look, just calm down and maybe go outside in the fresh air and take a walk or something. You are in no state to be courting a woman right now, even one the likes of her."

"And then what, Draco? What do I do after that?"

Draco sighed and thought for a moment. How had _he_ gotten Potter's notice, aside from being his hapless victim in the streets? Then an idea clicked in his head.

"Then you compose a nice letter to her, explaining that you're sorry about today. Okay? Start with a letter first. Do not be so foolish as to attempt to see her in person again, you hear?"

There we go. Agonising over how to compose the perfect letter should keep him busy for a while, and it would also keep him from inadvertently driving her into the arms of Potter with his horrible antics.

Blaise's brow furrowed. "Perhaps you have a point, Draco," he said slowly.

"I always have a point, Blaise."

"Yeah, I guess you can't help it, with that pointy face of yours!"

Rolling his eyes, Draco shut off the Floo connection. Even he had his limits, and ridiculous puns were pushing them.

He cast a _Tempus_. Thankfully, he still had a lot of time to prepare for his date with Potter.

* * *

Dressed in Muggle attire, Draco knocked on the door of Potter's flat. Although he would never be caught dead in such a getup normally, he was willing to make an exception for today. His beige cashmere turtleneck and black trousers really showcased his lovely, lithe figure in a way that wizarding robes failed to do, and he knew that Potter would have to be impressed.

And he was, if his open mouth in the doorway was any indication.

"M-Malfoy. Hi."

Draco gave him a genuine smile, enjoying the view. Potter was wearing a jade collared shirt and well-fitting blue denim jeans, which was perfect for where they were going to go, since anything too formal would have looked stiff and out of place. He wondered how Potter knew. It was almost as if he could read Draco's mind.

Frowning, he Occluded his mind, just in case.

"So I take it we're not going to a wizarding place? I do have some robes I can throw on if that's the case."

"No, Potter, you look passable. Let's go."

Before Potter could object, he wrapped his arms around him in a lingering embrace and Disapparated.

* * *

"Malfoy, why are we in a dark alley?" asked Potter in a panicky voice, struggling in Draco's arms.

Draco rolled his eyes, even though Potter probably couldn't see it. "I'm not going to off you, you sod. I just didn't want to Apparate in front of a bunch of Muggles."

"Oh."

"Yes. Now follow me." He reluctantly pulled away and started walking.

They made their way to the restaurant, and the annoying blathering host from the other day lit up as he saw Draco.

"Drake! It's you again! And with a guest, too! Right this way."

Potter looked at him questioningly, and Draco bit back a scowl. Great, now he was going to think that Draco had Muggle _friends_. Perish the thought!

Then again, if that would help Potter be more comfortable with him, then maybe it wasn't a bad thing.

They sat down and looked at the menu, pondering what to order. Draco, of course, was rather particular, and he also didn't want Potter to hurt himself too much from thinking (could his brow _be_ any more furrowed?), so he grasped his hands and pulled them away.

"I'll do the ordering, Potter. I'm paying, anyway. You just enjoy yourself. I'm sure you'll find my taste impeccable." Draco made sure to have his eyes linger over Potter's body as he said this, hoping that the implication that he was also referring to his taste in date partners would hit home in that dense head of his.

Potter rolled his eyes, but he blushed, so Draco thought he probably understood.

A delicious antipasto platter and half a plate of traditional spaghetti and meatballs later, Draco was enjoying himself, and he could see that Potter was, too. It had been a brilliant idea to take him here. Instead of panicking and worrying about which utensils to use, Potter was slurping his pasta cheerfully, chattering about the antics of the Weasel and joking about his instructors at the Auror Academy. Draco didn't even mind the slurping, not when he saw the way Potter's emerald eyes shone in the light every time he bent down to reach the noodles.

If he was honest with himself, he had actually been dreading this date, worrying that Potter would somehow disgust him so much that he couldn't continue this anymore and would thus have to disappoint his parents. He had also been just a little bit worried that Potter would be awkward and distant the whole time, unwilling to open himself up to him. Now Draco saw that his fears had been unfounded. With some mouth-watering food and just a little bit of red wine, Potter was transfigured into a normal, functioning human being like the rest of them, rather than the stuck-up and unattainable Boy Who Lived that Draco had known throughout his childhood.

Yes, it was all going splendidly, until a dark shadow loomed over them.

He and Potter looked up, only to find a large blond man.

For one ridiculous moment, Draco thought that Hagrid had shaved his beard and dyed his hair blond, but then he blinked and saw that the man was not that much bigger than was reasonable for a human, albeit a really fat and muscular one.

"Well, well, well," sneered the man. "What do we have here? It's _Harry_."

Draco scowled at the contemptuous, jeering tone. Who the hell was this Muggle, and how did he know Potter?

He looked over at the Saviour, only to find him sitting there with his jaw clenched in silence.

Hmm. Was this huge oaf perhaps an ex-lover of Potter's? Draco's blood boiled with jealousy. Maybe he was! Perhaps Potter had a thing for blonds who could sneer, and Draco was not the first sneering blond in his life.

Reaching for his wand within the folds of his clothing, Draco turned to give the man his own sneer, already hating him for ruining what had promised to be a lovely dinner. "Hello, there. My name is Draco Malfoy. What business do you have with my date?"

The man had the nerve to _guffaw_. "Hah! Are you another one of _his_ kind, then?"

"His kind"? The wheels turned in Draco's mind. Perhaps the reason why they broke up was because he had discovered that Potter was magical and just could not handle it! He bristled even more at the idea of this jerk rejecting Potter for such a stupid reason.

"Why, yes, I am of 'his kind.' And thus I would like to ask you to leave us alone."

"Or else what?"

"Oh, just go away please—you don't want to mess with him—" babbled Potter, trying to intercede, but the man paid him no heed, cracking his knuckles. In the distance, the host and waiters of the restaurant were already heading towards the scene, but they were too far away.

"You know what I think, you poncey blond? I think you're all talk and no action. You are definitely no match for me."

With that, the man pulled back his fist to throw a punch, and Draco panicked, since he had never been good at physical fighting.

So he turned the man into a pig.

Silence.

Then screaming.

"Oh god!" exclaimed Potter, leaping to his feet and looking torn between yelling himself hoarse and bursting into a fit of giggles. "You've torn it now, Malfoy. We shall have to move to the Continent before the Ministry gets to us! I can't believe you turned my cousin into a pig!"

As the reality of the words sank in, Draco turned greener than Potter's eyes and shirt. Oh no, what had he done? Not only did he just violate a million Ministry laws, but he had turned Potter's own kin into a pig!

Forgetting all the vows he had made to himself before, he turned tail and ran out of the restaurant.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **And so we are back. Thank you for your continued support! As we get further and further into the story, I'm starting to get a better idea of where we are going; I'm already writing the next chapter. I don't know how you guys will feel about this chapter, but then again, I never know how you guys will feel about any chapter I write, so I guess that's not new. What I can say is, hang in there, because once we get past this chapter, it'll be quite the ride. Even I don't know how this'll all end, but god damn it, Draco, you're going to end up with Harry, you hear? I don't care if you have to literally bend over backwards-you will survive everything I throw at you!

And Blaise, please stop pestering me. Your eyelashes are not pretty enough for me to be affected by their fluttering.

* * *

_Chapter Six—Don't Be Such a Pansy: Take a Chance on Me_

"So you mean to tell me, Trainee Potter, that _you_ were the one who turned the Muggle into a pig?"

"Yes," said Harry gravely, trying his best to keep a straight face despite the hilarity of the memory. Godric, that had been glorious. Then he thought about the possibility that he might very well get expelled from the Auror Academy if they believed him. That sobered him up. "Besides, he's not just any Muggle—he's my cousin. Which is why I turned him back into a human later."

The Head Auror frowned even more than before, which was quite the feat, in Harry's opinion. "Why would you hex your own cousin in the first place, though? I thought you didn't have many relatives left, much less any expendable ones."

Harry smiled ruefully. "My childhood with my aunt, uncle, and cousin wasn't exactly the nicest. They hated me."

"Hated you?" asked the Head Auror disbelievingly.

"Yes, very much so. They were Muggles who were very afraid of magic. They thought I'd turn them into toads any second."

"I can see why!"

Harry put on a sheepish expression. "I know. It's just…I wouldn't normally do this, you know? But he was really getting under my skin, like always, and he was threatening to punch my date, and everything's just been so _hard_ after the war…" Harry almost winced at how whiny and pathetic he was sounding, but he really needed to sell this.

"You were on a date with someone? Who was it? There was no one with you when we arrived at the scene."

Harry groaned internally. Trust him to focus on something like that. He ignored the question about whom, since he didn't want to drag Malfoy into this when he was trying to save his arse. "Haha, yeah…the sight of me turning someone into a pig scared 'em off."

"Was your date a Muggle?" He grew visibly upset, probably at the thought that they had let a Muggle run off un-Obliviated.

"No! No, not a Muggle. We were just in the mood for Muggle food, that's all. I guess that backfired, though, eh? I never thought I'd ever see my cousin again…all the memories just came rushing back when he started jeering, and I couldn't help myself…"

The Head Auror shook his head and patted him on the shoulder. "Trainee Potter, answer honestly for me, please. Would you ever let this happen again?"

"No, sir." And that was the truth. Next time Malfoy drew out a wand on a Muggle like that, Harry would tackle him. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to take a leaf out of Ron's book, once in a while.

"Good. You know, you caused a lot of trouble for us with that stunt. There were just so _many_ Muggles…" He shuddered at the thought, and Harry shuddered, too. The Obliviators were probably exhausted. Malfoy really had picked an awful place to lose control.

"I'm sorry, sir. I promise I won't do it again."

"Please see to it that you don't. You know, if you were anyone else, I probably would have kicked you out of the program. But…it's just too politically complicated to do so. Especially with the press."

Harry nodded in grim agreement.

"So instead, you are henceforth to go to a Mind Healer once every two weeks."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but he quickly closed it. He should be glad he was getting off lightly.

"It'll be good for you, Trainee Potter. You look like you need help, anyway. I've heard about the Fortescue's incident, you know. And then there were the _lies_ the paper printed about you and _Malfoy_! How positively revolting! If I were you, I'd need therapy, too."

Harry gulped guiltily, thinking that if he continued on this course, they would soon cease to be lies. But there was no need for the Head Auror to know that, so instead, he focused on a more important matter. "Would this Mind Healer be…confidential?"

"Don't worry. Every Healer, Mind or not, has to take an Oath of confidentiality. It is magically binding. None of your personal details will be sold to the press."

Harry smiled genuinely this time. "Thank you, sir. I really appreciate your patience with me, and I hope not to disappoint you in the future."

"I hope so, too."

They shook hands, and Harry walked out of the office.

When he was out of earshot, he finally let himself burst into giggles, despite the fact that he now had to go to some stupid Mind Healer for no reason.

Everything that had happened since the crash in Diagon Alley had been so ridiculous from the get-go, but the most ridiculous part was the fact that seeing Malfoy curse his cousin had made him fall just a little bit in love with him.

It was kind of nice that Malfoy hadn't become some perfectly polished, infallible person after the war. Even that prat knew how to experience panic, and gosh, he did it so _adorably_.

Humming, Harry went off to compose a letter to his new love interest.

* * *

Draco was wallowing in his living room. He did not want to have to run away to the Continent. He loved his flat, and he loved his parents. And he kind of, sort of loved Potter. Or at least thought he was okay, tolerable enough for a Malfoy. He could do worse.

He would just have to lay low for a while. Worse comes to worst, he could just hide in the Manor. That place was enormous. The Ministry would never find him there.

Oh, but what if Potter would never agree to date him, ever again? He had turned his _cousin_ into a pig, and Salazar knew the poor bastard didn't have many living relatives left.

He was so engrossed in his panicky thoughts that he missed the sound of the Floo completely. Thus he was caught off-guard when his fireplace started screeching.

"_Draaaaaaacoooooo!"_

He grimaced. It was Pansy. He never liked making conversation with her on his best days, and today definitely wasn't his best.

"Yes, Pansy dearest with eternal sunshine coming out of her arse?"

She laughed, and it was a sharp bark. Like the kind of bark a little Chihuahua would make. "Oh, you! You make the most ridiculous comments when you're in a snit! That wasn't even witty at all!"

He sneered, which only served to make her laugh even more. He covered his ears, wincing. "What do you want, Pans? Please don't tell me that you, too, are madly in love with the Weaselette."

She abruptly stopped laughing. "_What?_ Why would I say something like _that?_"

Draco smirked, relieved that she had stopped barking. "Good, I thought the whole world was going mad, but it turns out it's only Blaise."

"_What?_"

She leapt through the Floo so quickly that Draco didn't even see her toss Floo powder in. He sighed as she landed on his living room floor safely instead of burning to a crisp. That would have been so amusing.

"No, Draco, this just can't be! I was going to invite you two to my wedding. My wedding!" She paused to squeal and dangle her large engagement ring in front of his face. "But how can I invite him if he's going to bring that blood traitor with him?"

"Calm down, Pansy. They're not dating or anything. He just has a crush."

"I'll show him a _crush_ alright!" She cracked her knuckles.

Draco grinned despite the awful pun. Here was a way to rid him of his inconvenient obligation to Blaise. If Pansy changed his mind about pursuing the Weaselette, then he would not hold Draco responsible for the bint's acceptance or rejection anymore. He would simply give up and move on with his life, possibly marrying myriad spouses like his mother. Then Draco would get to go to many, many wedding celebrations, and life would be fun again. It was not like he really _needed _Blaise to date the bint, anyway. He could find other ways to dispose of her.

"Why don't you run along, Pans, and bring poor Blaise to his senses?"

"I will! But first." She handed him the official wedding invitation. "It's in six months. You better show up!"

"I will, Pansy. And who knows, maybe I'll bring an amusing date with me."

She snarled. "Just don't bring any blood traitors, okay?"

"I make no promises."

Pansy rolled her eyes but did not bother to argue, likely figuring that he was just covering his arse with vagueness like all Slytherins did. She stepped into the Floo, grumbling invectives to herself and plotting ways to maim Blaise.

When she was gone, his grin faded away. As shrill and annoying as she was, she was at least amusing and a source of entertainment. Now that she was gone, he had to go back to wallowing.

So wallow he did for a full hour, until an owl appeared.

Draco glared at it warily. Even though he had finally put up some post-filtering wards, he was still a little paranoid. Ugh, he was becoming his parents, wasn't he? It was probably inevitable. He should just grab the letter and rebel against the paranoia now before he started following snake-faces around, too.

_Malfoy,_

_Talked to the Head Auror. They think I did it. Relax._

_HP_

_PS I've always hated that git, so don't feel guilty._

Draco let out a sigh of relief, even as he frowned at the messy handwriting and the abruptness of the message. Honestly, didn't the prat know how to write a proper letter? He thought his letter had been an exemplary example, but perhaps Potter didn't know how to follow examples.

He was just about to pen an annoyed response about propriety on the back of this parchment when another owl flew in, this time bearing a package.

His eyebrows raised, he unwrapped it.

It was a box of truffles.

_Oops, forgot to send this with the letter._

_Here. Hope this will cheer you up. Sorry about the ruined date._

_HP_

His heart skipped a beat, and he caressed the note, suddenly not caring that it was short and messy. Potter had remembered! He _did_ care!

Opening the box, he transported himself into sweet, sweet heaven, while plotting several ways to have a successful date with Potter for once.

* * *

Blaise sat at his expensive desk, frowning at his inert stationary, which was also expensive.

He was trying his best to follow Draco's advice about writing a letter, but it was so difficult. How did one write a romantic letter, anyway? His mother had never had to do that. All she ever had to do was flutter her eyelashes and her conquests would fall all over her.

He cursed his maleness and his lack of luscious eyelashes.

_Dear Blood-Traitor—_

No.

_Dear Titian Goddess—_

No.

_Dear Miss Weasley—_

No.

_Dear Ginevra,_

Yes. That would work nicely as a beginning.

He tickled his lips with his quill (which was _not _a peacock feather, because honestly, who would ever buy such a tacky thing?) and thought about what to say next. How did one apologise without admitting to any actual wrongdoing? Being a Slytherin was hard.

But then again, being a Slytherin was also very useful. The truth was that he already knew that Draco didn't technically owe him anything. Draco was a self-absorbed prick. He would never remember something so silly as saving him from a Longbottom potion spill, which was an everyday occurrence. So of course the accident in Diagon Alley had nothing to do with Blaise. He had no idea why Draco _had_ let Potter fall on top of him, but that was of no importance. Draco was probably a ponce, which was not the end of the world. It simply meant one less competitor for women's affections.

No, the more important thing was that the public nature of the accident and the Fortescue's argument (which had been detailed in the same article as the falling incident) were enough to make Ginevra break up with Potter, which was the result Blaise really desired. Now he could pursue her openly, without worrying about Gryffindor things such as _morals_.

Of course, he had needed insurance, which was the _real_ reason why he blathered on to Draco about debt repayment and gratefulness. He had known the fool would play along with him, because he hated debts. This way, Draco felt himself obligated to give Blaise advice and help him out with this courtship in whatever way he could, and Blaise was always appreciative of help in any and all forms.

The Floo chimed.

"Who could that be?" he muttered to himself. Perhaps Draco had come up with some last-minute advice to impart?

A screech told him that that was not the case.

"_Blaaaaiisssse. You come to the Floo right fucking now, or I'll get in there and hex your traitorous bollocks off!_"

He sighed. How could he have possibly offended Pansy? He hadn't even seen the bint in a month!

Hm. Was that why she was upset? Because he hadn't visited her?

"I'm coming, darling Pansy, light of my life! You just hold on to your sweet cheeks and let me get to you."

"Salazar, what the hell is wrong with you and Draco today? I thought we grew out of false compliments and moved on to the more subtle manipulations already!"

_Draco?_

It was then that Blaise realised what must have happened. Draco must have spilled, the brat. He had probably Flooed Pansy the moment he finished talking to Blaise in order to whine to her about the unfairness of his "debt."

_That bastard! He should have known she could throw a wrench in everything! Why else would I pick him to confide in, and not her?_

Blaise rushed over the last few steps, scowling at the flat-faced woman in the flames. "No matter what you do, Pansy, you're not going to change my mind about this. Besides, we never would have worked out, so don't think about trying to return to me."

She sneered. "I wouldn't go near your prick even if it were a ten-foot pole! I just wanted to invite you to my wedding, but _noooooo_, you just had to go and ruin that by chasing after Weasels!"

"Wedding? When did you even acquire a boyfriend?"

"Arranged by my parents, like all the best marriages, of course."

"Send the groom my sympathies. He'll need them to keep up with you."

She gave him a feral grin. "I know what's going on. You're just so heartbroken after I dumped you that you've desperately fixated on the first whore you could find, and the Weaselette happened to be that whore."

"You take that back! You shall not be calling my intended a woman of the town!"

"But she's already serviced the whole town. For free. Which is why she's still poor, unfortunately. Are you going to save her from her whoring ways with your money, Blaise, is that it? Buy her for a night and then end up keeping her for a lifetime? Just remember that whores don't kiss."

Blaise took out his wand, his eyes blazing, and Pansy barked out a laugh, not even flinching.

"Alright, alright, no need for that. I suppose you really _are_ serious about this. I was just testing you."

He glared doubtfully at her. Not only was her face flat, but it was also invariably devious nowadays, so it was hard to tell when she was lying. She always looked like she was lying, and she was probably always lying. The only thing that varied was the degree of lying.

"May I come in, Blaise? I really would like to properly invite you to my wedding, and I would rather not throw the letter into the flames."

He sighed. "Alright, Pansy. You may come through."

As she stepped through the Floo, he admired the cut of her dark violet robes. Even though she was not traditionally pretty, she more than made up for it with her style of dress. There had been a time when he was crazy over her, so crazy that he resented Draco for always getting her attention. And when she had asked him what he felt about Ginevra back in Hogwarts, he had scowled and said she was nothing but a blood traitor, because that had been the truth at the time. He had only had eyes for Pansy, and it had been so cruel of her to ever think otherwise.

But during the war, Pansy had finally let him into her heart, and he had found that her heart wasn't really a habitable place to be in. It was full of bitterness and insecurity, and whenever he tried to get close to her, he kept running into her claws.

And one could only stand to be scratched so many times before one gave up.

"Here, Blaise, the official invitation," she said primly, cutting off his reminiscing.

He held the cream-coloured paper in his hands, scanning the details with a critical eye.

"Duke Bartholomew, eh? How did you get involved with nobility?"

"My parents are very well-connected, and he's been their friend for decades."

"So he's really old?"

"Yes. And when he kicks the bucket, I'll be a very rich woman."

"Now that suits you just perfectly, Pansy."

She smiled, and he saw a ghost of the woman he used to love.

"Are you really sure about this Weaslette business, Blaise? There really are so many other women you could try. I hear that Astoria Greengrass is as pretty and available as ever."

"No thanks. I'd rather not bed a woman that might make me moan out 'Daphne' by accident."

Pansy shuddered. "Yes, that would probably not go well. I had forgotten about your brief fling with Daffy. Too bad she's already married, or else you could crawl back to her."

Blaise smirked. "I could probably have her again if I wanted to, husband or not. But I'd rather not."

"Yes, I understand. I still don't understand why you'd go after a Weasel, though. What makes you so sure that she'll have you? What if she pines after Potter for the rest of her life, or what if she calls you 'Dean' by accident, or what if she bumps into a corner of a desk and remembers that Corner bloke and misses him? Sentimental Gryffindors are not really worth the trouble, you know."

"Well, I won't know what happens until I try. I took a chance on _you_, you know, even though there was no guarantee that you'd ever get over Draco."

"Yeah, and look how well _that_ went."

"I still enjoy the memories of the good times we did have."

She was silent for a moment, staring at her fingernails. "I do, too," she admitted finally.

He leaned forward and cupped her chin in his hand. "I'm sorry things didn't work out between us."

"Believe me, Blaise, I'm sorry, too." Then she smirked and stepped back. "But life moves on, and all that. And I suppose it'll be amusing to watch your awkward courtship dance with that freckled fool. Do tell me how it goes, will you? And if you do end up bringing her to my wedding, I'll have a very _special_ dinner for her."

He grinned and shoved her towards the fireplace. "Off with you, you menace!"

"Buh-bye, Blaise."

As her figure disappeared into the flames, Blaise turned back to the mostly-blank parchment and sighed.

It was time to woo a Gryffindor.

* * *

Having eaten all the truffles in a delicate and decadent fashion, Draco was in a much better mood. Not only did Potter send him the lovely treats, but he had saved him from the wrath of the Ministry, and he had admitted that he hated the oafish cousin. Life was back on the right track.

Getting dressed, he decided to go surprise Potter at his flat. Perhaps he could _thank_ him in various creative ways. His tongue could be very eloquent when he wanted it to be.

He Apparated to Potter's flat, and he was surprised that he had actually made it inside. Had Potter's wards been reconfigured to accept him? That was a very good sign.

"_Malfoy?_ What the hell are you doing here?"

He whipped his head around, only to find the Weaselette staring at him in shock from Potter's couch.

_Damn it, maybe I should have let Blaise court her in person. And I shouldn't have delayed him with Pansy_. But now was not the time for regrets.

He whipped out his wand at the same moment she did, and the duel began.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **Gosh, my beta works FAST. Technically, in my time zone, this is the second chapter I'm posting within the same day! Oh, Asebi, I love you :)

Now I'm going to go to sleep and hope that the next time I wake up, I'll have fresh ideas for you all.

* * *

_Chapter Seven—The Domino Effect_

Ginny was having a very bad week. It was bad enough that Harry had dumped her (or had she dumped him? It was all very confusing, which did not help her headache). But worse, when she had seen him in that newspaper article…she had felt a tight clenching around her heart.

It was not that she actually _believed_ the article, since it was obvious that it was an accident that Harry was on top of Malfoy, what with all the items spilling out onto the streets. And even if it were true, she did not feel jealous. She'd had Harry, had had him for a couple of years. She had had all he could give her, and when she realised that he had nothing more to offer, she cut her losses. She deserved a man who was more than Harry, and she wasn't going to wail about it. Wailing was for Hufflepuffs who clung onto the idea of purity and loyalty. She was a Gryffindor—she was not afraid to get out there and search for what she wanted.

No, the reason why her heart clenched was because she knew that Harry would be having a bad time after the article, and she felt guilty. Why had she just left him like that? Prat or not, he deserved her friendship at the very least, her support. He had been so used to her comforting him, and what was he going to do without her comfort? _That _was the Gryffindor quality she hated—the conscience, the desire to set things right and do justice to everything. She wished she could ignore it, but her conscience panged and clanged around until she couldn't get any sleep at night.

So she had been relieved when Luna had asked her to go to Fortescue's for a chat, because she desperately needed the advice of a Ravenclaw, no matter how mysteriously worded or ethereal.

Of course, that conversation was cut short by that prejudiced jerk, Zabini. And then the owner had had the nerve to ban her from the parlour! She already paid for the bowl, and she wasn't the one who broke the window!

Thankfully, Luna had managed to find her after that Portkey took her to Merlin knew where, although she would never comprehend how that happened. Luna was just amazing, sometimes. The criminal world should be relieved that she was never interested in becoming an Auror.

"Ginny," she had said, after listening to her ranting, "The only solution is to talk to Harry. He will not know that you are still his friend unless you talk to him. After all, that's what friends do, isn't it? They talk."

So there she was, in Harry's flat (which used to be hers, too), just sitting on the sofa and waiting for him to come home so they could have a proper talk, since everyone knew that the best talks were in person, not via Floo or owl.

But since the universe felt that her week wasn't bad enough, it just had to send Malfoy in to finish her off.

"_Malfoy?_ What the hell are you doing here?" Had he come here to extract some sort of twisted revenge on Harry for embarrassing him in the press? Or had Zabini sent him to track her down in order to finish her off?

When he didn't answer, she pulled out her wand, only to find him pulling out his wand, too.

She was on her feet in less than a second, firing off the first spell that came to mind.

"_Confringo!"_

Malfoy dodged, so the spell set Harry's lamp on fire instead.

"_Aguamenti!_" he snarled at the lamp, flooding the living room, before pointing at her with, "_Confundo!"_

She dived out of the way. Life was confusing enough without being Confunded, thank you very much. She cast a Stinging Hex, which grazed his left shoulder.

"ARGH—_furnunculus_, you bitch!"

She hastily cast a _Protego_, and it bounced off. He dodged the rebound, so it hit Harry's ficus, which immediately erupted into boils. Ginny shouted, "_Diffindo!_"

Malfoy dodged that, too. The wallpaper behind him ripped to shreds. "_Langlock_!"

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. That was okay; she knew how to do the next spell wordlessly. _Levicorpus!_

Malfoy flipped upside-down, and she chuckled nastily in her head. _Nice pants, Malfoy._

"_Tarantallegra!"_

Distracted by his pants, Ginny failed to dodge, so she started dancing uncontrollably, crashing into everything Harry owned. She raised her wand to cast another spell, but it was now hard to aim, which gave Malfoy the opportunity to twist in the air and say, "_Rictusempra!"_ Even though he couldn't properly see her with his robes over his face, he still hit the mark, probably because Ginny's dancing feet was making so much noise.

_Damn it!_ Ginny was now dancing and struggling to laugh from the sensation of tickling fingers all over her body, although her tongue was still glued to the roof of her mouth. She closed her eyes in agony.

Malfoy chuckled, the sound muffled, probably because his robes were still over his face. "Ah, Weaselette, I honestly don't know what other men see in you. You are such a substandard duelist. Whatever Potter taught you in the DA, you sure didn't retain it."

Infuriated, Ginny raised her wand to cast the _other_ spell she could do wordlessly.

_Incendi—_

"NO! I'LL SAVE YOU, MALFOY!"

Next thing she knew, she was falling to the ground, her still-dancing body struggling against a very determined Ron Weasley.

* * *

Ron knew that he wasn't the brightest. That title belonged to his beloved Hermione. So when his instructors at the Auror Academy had scolded him for his "saving people thing," he had accepted the lashing, because maybe they had a point and other people _could_ take care of themselves.

He had learned quickly, however, that although they _could_, they _wouldn't_.

Which was why Hermione always stayed up too late studying her books, Harry insisted on pursuing—something—with the ferret, and his sister was now systematically destroying everything Harry owned, including his new boyfriend.

The situation was obvious the moment he stepped into the door with half of Harry's groceries and surveyed the whole scene. Poor Malfoy. The git had probably planned on making a visit to Harry where they could do…stuff that Ron didn't want to think about, but Ginny had broken in, full of anger and resentment over being dumped. He understood how Ginny felt. Although she had put on a brave face in front of him and Hermione, she was clearly broken up inside, full of emotions waiting to burst out violently any moment, and she had had no one to confide in.

Ron's mistake, back then, had been thinking that Ginny would turn to self-harm. Of course she wouldn't do that; she had too much pride. When Ginny was angry, she harmed others, just like the incident at Fortescue's.

He sighed with pity at his struggling sister before turning to Malfoy's dangling body. "_Liberacorpus!_"

Malfoy fell to the ground, groaning. Ron winced. It wasn't exactly like he liked the sod, but after listening to Harry talk his ear off about Malfoy's virtues that morning, Ron had to admit that he was OK, especially if he was willing to curse those who threatened to harm Harry. After all, Ron couldn't be there to save Harry _every_ time.

And even though Ron wasn't a fully trained Auror yet, he knew how to distinguish victim from attacker in a situation. Malfoy was clearly the victim here, for he hadn't even used Dark Arts against Ginny! He just used childish school jinxes as defensive measures while Ginny apparently tried to set him on fire, if her silent wand movements were any indication. Ron was actually very acquainted with that spell, for reasons best left unsaid.

When Ginny attempted to butt her head against him, he shook himself out of his thoughts. "Malfoy! Take the jinxes off! I'm getting pretty tired of holding her down."

With a few waves of Malfoy's wand, Ginny went still beneath Ron, gasping for breath.

"Oh, Ginny," he whispered. "You need help. You need so much help."

She punched him in the face, and he backed away, clutching his bleeding nose. "_You're_ the one that needs help! How could you side with that Slytherin over me—?"

"WHAT DID YOU GUYS DO TO MY LIVING ROOM?"

Three sets of eyes turned to face Harry, who was standing in the doorway holding a bag of groceries in his arms, his face red-purple and a vein threatening to burst in his neck.

"Harry! I saved your living room! And Malfoy! Ginny was going to destroy both!"

"WHAT. No! I was just protecting you from Malfoy, Harry! He got in here somehow and then started attacking me!"

"I was just defending myself, after _you_ started attacking _me_!"

"I DON'T CARE—ALL OF YOU FIX MY STUFF RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"

* * *

Two hours later, Harry smiled in satisfaction at his good-as-new living room and his three guests, each of whom was bound to a chair.

"Mate, why'd you tie _me_ up? I was just saving the day!"

Harry rubbed his temples. He needed a stiff drink.

"Look. I'm only going to set you guys free when each of you, one at a time, explains to me, slowly and carefully, just what the hell happened today. I'm going to start with you, Ginny."

"Harry, can't we talk alone? I don't want my brother and the ferret listening in!"

Harry stared at her in stony silence, unimpressed with her plea.

"Fine. I just came over to check up on you, okay? I saw the article and thought the press was printing awful lies about you, and I know how sensitive you are about that. But I guess they weren't lies, after all, if the way you all are behaving is any indication."

Malfoy snorted, and Ginny twisted in her ropes to kick his chair leg. "Ow!"

"Feeling empathy for inanimate objects, Malfoy? I suppose that's all you're capable of doing, since you have no heart, ferret scum."

"You take that back, Weaselette! I do too have a heart, just not one for a bint like you!" He tilted his weight sideways so that he and the chair would fall on top of her. She shrieked and fell, too, which caused Ron to become one very unlucky domino.

"I hate you all!" he wailed, his face scrunching up in pain. "_This_ is the thanks I get for trying to save all of your arses?"

Harry sighed and left them there, opening his kitchen cabinet and getting himself a bottle of Firewhiskey. This was going to be a _long_ interrogation.

* * *

When the two Weasels had finally gone home, Draco was lounging on Potter's ugly striped couch, which was the exact shade of vomit. He had not noticed the hideousness of this couch before, since he had been rather distracted by the prospect of seducing Potter, but now that he was cranky and traumatised from the whole ordeal—imagine, an entire afternoon spent with screaming and whining and sobbing Weasleys!—he was much less inclined to think charitably of Potter's awful sense of interior design.

"There, there, baby, it's okay. Don't cry, it's all over now," cooed Potter from his position on the floor next to him. He was much more cheerful now that he finally understood the whole situation, irritatingly so.

"Shut up, Potter. I hate you, I hate your insipid circle of friends, and I hate your blasted couch!"

Potter smiled and reached out with one hand, caressing his cheek with his thumb. Draco blushed despite himself. "You don't hate me, darling."

"Urgh! If I didn't hate you before, I do now! Don't call me that, you simpleton!"

"Daaaarliiiing Draaacoooo," he sang.

Irritated beyond his control, he suddenly grabbed the back of Potter's tangled head and mushed their faces together—anything to stop that abominable sound.

"O-Oh—!"

It was not the sweet, sugar-laden heaven that Draco had imagined his first with Saint Potter would be. His lips pressed angrily against Potter's shocked ones, determined to crush them into submission, and he sucked in his lower lip at some point, nibbling and drawing blood. Fuck Potter and his fucking fame and his fucking friends and his fucking family and his fucking fate. Draco was so _tired_ of having all the awful things happening to him just from the _idea_ of courting Harry fucking Potter, and he deserved to get something out of it, damn it!

Potter moaned into his demanding mouth and climbed on top of him, deepening the kiss. His hands moved to Draco's hair, stroking the silky strands reverently before curling to rub the nape of his neck in a way that Draco apparently _really_ liked. He groaned. Of _course_ it would be Potter who would find a way to calm him down, even when he really wanted to be angry. Of _course_.

He held onto Potter's shoulders and met his invading tongue, tasting him for the first time.

Oh, forget the truffles. Now that the anger was gone and he was simply relaxed and enjoying the experience, he found that Potter tasted much, much better than the truffles. It was not necessarily a sweet taste; Potter's tongue simply tasted like a tongue, really, with a little bit of a coppery twist from the lip-biting earlier, but apparently that managed to taste extraordinary. Draco moaned and pulled his head even closer, pushing Potter's tongue back into his mouth as he forced his own tongue inside.

As they kissed, they began to rut against each other, and for once in his life, Draco did not care how dignified or undignified he looked. He grinded hard against Potter, whimpering against his lips, the need to come overwhelming after all the stress of the past week.

Potter pulled his lips away and pressed them against Draco's ear, thus bringing his chest closer. "Oh Godric, Draco, you feel amazing. I've been dreaming of this since Diagon Alley."

Unbidden, Draco's mind turned back to that incident, remembering the way Potter's eyes had widened as they stared into Draco's, remembering the way he had breathed over Draco's face, remembering how he had looked at Draco as if he were the only person that existed in the world for him—

His attention snapped back to the present Potter as he arched his head back, trembling and moaning louder—

As Draco connected the two images together, he gripped the back of Potter's shirt as the sensation soared in his gut and he came, rocking uncontrollably against Potter's body.

With a cry, Potter came, too, biting on Draco's ear as he did so.

When the shudders and shivers had finally died out, they lay there together on Potter's ugly couch, caressing each other's skin with their trembling hands.

"Harry," Draco whispered into his hair.

Although there were still a lot of things to talk about in terms of feelings and labels and coming out in public, now was not the time to talk about them.

Now was the time to take a nap with the man he loved.

* * *

Ginny groaned as she lay down in bed, her entire body protesting against the contact. Stupid Malfoy and his stupid chair tilt! She would never forgive him for that.

But she did have to admit that she had been wrong to duel him without attempting a civil conversation first. After all, she knew next to nothing about Harry's life now, and it was obvious that Harry had tuned his wards to allow Malfoy in for a reason. It was surprising that he'd suddenly acquired a boyfriend, sure, but she had relinquished any right to care the moment she had passively walked out the door.

Thankfully, though, after the awkward conversation in the living room, she and Harry had repaired their friendship, so she would not have to deal with surprises like this in the future. And now that she didn't play such a big role in Harry's life anymore, she did not have to listen to his self-pity as much.

She grinned as she thought about that. Malfoy had no idea what he was in for. Harry had probably been toning it down for the beginning of their relationship, but once they got closer, oh boy! That selfish prat probably wouldn't last an hour once Harry opened the floodgates.

Just as she was patting herself on the back, an owl flew in with a letter. "Who could this be from?" she murmured, opening the fancy-looking seal.

_Dear Ginevra,_

_The events at Fortescue's the other day were highly unfortunate, and I am deeply sorry for the misunderstandings that took place. I wish to make it up to you in any way possible, because you deserve it. You must have had a rough week, and I have unfortunately not done my part to make it any better for you._

_Please allow me the honour of taking you out to dinner tomorrow in recompense. You will not regret it, I give you my word._

_Yours,_

_Blaise Zabini_

She dropped the letter.

This really was a terrible week.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Thanks for all the feedback! Haha, I'm sorry this took a while. This is my first time writing anything for an audience larger than a professor or a few friends, so I have a lot to learn about clarity. I've learned that the beta knows best, man. If it weren't for Asebi, the ending half of this chapter would make absolutely no sense, and you would all suffer needlessly. So let's all give a round of applause to her for sparing you all from terrible, unedited writing!

*pretends that you guys clapped because obviously I am not omniscient and cannot know if you did or not*

Anyway, I have the beginning of the next chapter in my head, and I'll start writing it out tomorrow. Then we shall see where my crazy mind takes us next.

Alright, on with the story now.

* * *

_Chapter Eight—Blaise's Tough Audience_

Blaise sat across from Ginevra in the fancy French restaurant he had chosen for tonight's date, smiling and contemplating her beautiful visage.

She was not smiling, of course. He did not expect her to. After all, it must have been rather disorienting for her to have to go on a date with a man who had tried to attack her the last time they met. But he missed! Surely that had to count for something, right?

Oh, well. A Zabini always finds a way to charm their intended. Even though Blaise had not inherited his mother's eyelashes, he had her charisma, at least.

"Ginevra, you look absolutely ravishing." He gave her his best smile, while biting his tongue before he could add the word "tonight," because he feared that she might start tearing into him for implying that she did not always look ravishing, which was untrue.

"Thank you," she said stiffly, looking down and picking nervously at her sleeve. Blaise had to smile at her brazen choice of robes. Crimson with gold trimmings and of a rich, luxurious material that he longed to touch, likely a gift from Potter or perhaps her financially successful brother, the one with the dead twin. He knew what she was trying to do, even if she was not consciously aware of it. Her Gryffindor nature refused to back down from the challenge of a date with an enemy, but she still did not want to make things easy for him. She was hoping to chase him away.

A Zabini is never easily chased away.

He reached out to grasp her hand, exactly the way he had seen Lovegood do, and he tenderly pressed his lips against the back of it. She gave a soft gasp, and he could feel the subtle strain of her trying to pull her hand away, but he simply smiled against her skin.

She opened her mouth, probably to tell him to back off, but the waiter appeared at that moment to take their order.

"Ah yes, we would like to start off with some escargot and some consommé de volaille, please. We have yet to decide what we would like for our main course, though, so we'll get back to you on that."

Ginevra's face paled at the mention of "escargot," but Blaise gave her a reassuring smile. "It's really quite delicious, Ginevra. I would never order something absolutely repugnant on our first date."

"What makes you think there will be more dates after this, Zabini?" she snapped, and the fire leapt into her eyes as she yanked her hand away. His breath caught in his throat—he really did like them feisty.

"Never say never, my dear. Because you never know how tonight will go."

"I didn't say 'never' at all! _You_ just said it three times!"

"And you said it once just now, so I do not think you are in any position to judge." He rejoiced at the defiant tilt of her chin—he had feared that she might be as dim-witted as her brother, the one that was best friends with Potter, but he was pleasantly surprised. He always did like to have sparring partners for his witty conversations.

"You—!"

What she would have said about him, though, he never found out, because they were interrupted by a shriek.

Both of them whipped their heads around to look for the source, and Blaise's eyes widened as he saw bushy brown hair.

"Oh, Ron! I thought you were never going to ask! Of course I'll marry you!" The bushy-haired woman then slipped what looked like a thin silver ring with a tiny diamond onto her finger and hugged a man with abominable freckles.

Blaise blanched, even as he sneered at the freckles (unlike the man, his Ginevra had a cute dusting of freckles on her nose, not an entire face-full of them). What the hell were Potter's two best friends doing here? How could they even afford this restaurant? Sure, it wasn't the most expensive restaurant on Blaise's repertoire of dining locations, since he hadn't wanted to scare his date off with too much finery at once, but _still_. Did Potter and/or the living twin fund the entire family?

Ginevra squealed and stood up, rushing over to the couple before Blaise could stop her.

"I'm so happy for you two!" he heard her exclaim, even as he panicked.

_Shit_, _this isn't part of the plan. I don't want to meet her family just yet, not until I know for sure she will support me!_

The newly-engaged couple turned to her, beaming yet also looking surprised. "What are you doing here, Ginny?" asked Granger.

"Yeah, and why are you all dressed up like that?" asked Weasley.

In slow-motion, Blaise watched as his date turned her head towards him and her brother's eyes followed, widening.

"_What?" _he snarled, standing up with his wand out. "What are you doing here with _him?_"

_Oh Salazar_, Blaise moaned in his head. _Why did the git have to pick today to be perceptive?_

"Ron, I can explain—"

"There is nothing to explain! I can see it clearly now. This is all part of some twisted Slytherin plot!"

_Well, okay, I take it back—maybe he's not being perceptive at all._

"What…?" Ginevra looked bewildered, upset, and a few other emotions that Blaise could not interpret.

"He and Malfoy clearly banded together and orchestrated all this to break you and Harry up for their own sick satisfaction! Then they convinced you two to turn against each other with violence and destruction! And in the end they will dump you both and leave you heartbroken as they laugh over the pieces! Well, I won't let that happen!"

By the time Weasley had finished this long speech of righteousness, Blaise had already thrown Galleons onto the table, stood up, and prepared to abscond, but Weasley hit him with a Tripping Jinx before he could get out the door.

"Running away? I don't think so, you sneaky prick! No one messes with my sister and gets away with it!"

"Ron, no!" shouted what seemed to be Granger, no longer sounding elated. "You could end up in Azkaban!"

"This is the man who convinced Ginny to destroy Harry's flat!"

"No, Ron, that was an accident, I swear, nothing to do with him—" babbled Ginevra, but he paid her no heed.

"_Expul—"_

Weasley was cut off as he apparently fell with a thud.

"Hermione, what—GEROFF—mmph!"

Blaise took advantage of this unexpected ally and undid the jinx on himself, standing up.

Ginevra stood there staring at him with wide eyes, wringing her hands with several emotions flashing across her face.

Knowing that this might be his last chance before her brother broke free of his fiancée and hexed his bollocks off, Blaise reached for the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss.

It was brief, just a brushing of lips where she didn't even participate, but it was the best kiss he ever had.

A light sting hit the back of his neck, and he whipped his head around, meeting Granger's determined eyes as she fought to restrain her fiancé. "Go, Zabini! I don't know what's going on, but run for your life, you idiot!"

"HERMIONE WHY ARE YOU—"

But Blaise heard no more, for he had heeded Granger's warning and ran out the door.

* * *

Draco was having a lovely dinner with Harry in his flat, a dinner which the two of them had made together. It had been fun, cracking jokes and mocking each other as they chopped the vegetables, stirred the stew, and baked the chicken.

"Come on, Malfoy, you can chop better than that! What happened to all those potions skills, hm?"

"Piss off, Potter, it's just vegetables; they don't have to be as precisely chopped as potions ingredients, and I'm not wasting my energy on them."

"What happened to Malfoy consistency, hm? 'A Malfoy always does this! A Malfoy always does that!'" Harry put on a high-pitched prissy tone that did _not_ sound like Draco at all.

"That does _not_ apply in the kitchen!"

"Too bad, because your place _is_ in the kitchen."

"Is not! I do not intend to be your housewife!"

"Aww, really? I think you'd look cute in an apron."

"Malfoys are _not_ cute!"

"Yeah, but _you_ are!"

"You take that back!"

"Never!"

This particular argument had led to a tackle and a heated snogging session on the kitchen floor, and the stew had burned as a consequence.

After that unravelling of all their hard work, they had agreed to keep the snogging at a minimum. Well, at least when they were in the kitchen. There was nothing said about when they were in _other_ places.

Draco smiled at him as he continued to eat. The moment Harry cleared his plate, he was going to pounce on him and continue that lovely snogging business. The prat knew how to kiss very well.

The Floo chimed, interrupting his fantasies.

"Ugh, who the hell Floos people during dinnertime? It's just not _civil_. Hold on, Potter, I'll be right back," grumbled Draco.

He rushed to the living room and scowled as he saw Blaise's face. "_What_, Blaise, what could you possibly want _now?_ You don't speak to me for months and months, and now suddenly we are bosom buddies?"

"What's got _you_ in a snit, Draco? It's not like you ever do anything in the evenings."

"I eat in the evenings! And I do not appreciate being interrupted when I'm eating! How will I ever digest my food properly?"

"Oh, Drakey, if you have _that_ kind of problem, there are plenty of potions for that, all of which I'm sure you know how to brew."

"That's not what I—ugh, forget it, just tell me what the hell you want and then get out of my face."

"I want to come in. This kind of crisis necessitates more of a face-to-face talk."

"No! This is pretty face-to-face as it is!"

"Well technically this is face-to-crotch, since you refuse to kneel down."

"Don't be crude; you're facing my knees, not my crotch—"

"Draco? Are you okay? What's taking so long?" Draco groaned. Trust Potter to be so needy that he couldn't handle Draco being absent for even five minutes.

Blaise raised his eyebrows. "Who's _that_?"

"That's none of your business, now go away! I have company!"

"Well, there's no way in hell I'm going away _now_. What company could you possibly be trying to hide from me?"

With that, Blaise threw Floo powder into the fireplace and stepped through before Draco could close the connection.

At the same moment, Harry stepped into the living room.

The two men gaped at each other.

"_Zabini?"_

"_Potter?"_

"What brings you here today?"

"What brings you here _ever_? Draco! I demand an explanation right now!"

Draco opened his mouth to say _something_, anything, but he was interrupted as the newly-vacated Floo chimed again.

"_Draaaacooooo!_"

"God damn it. Pansy, go away! Now is not the time for whatever nonsense you want to spout today!"

"But it's Tuesday!" She whined. "We always have evening tea on Tuesdays! That's why it's called Tea Tuesday!"

"_What?_" snarled Harry, suddenly looking jealous. "You have tea with your ex-girlfriend on Tuesdays?"

"_Potter?_ Is that Potter? What is he doing there? Draco! Is _this_ the 'amusing guest' you wanted to bring to my wedding? I do not approve! It's bad enough that Blaise wants to bring that Weasley chit!"

Harry whirled to glare at Blaise. "Why would Ginny go anywhere with _you_? And—hang on—Draco, I don't want to go to _Parkinson's_ wedding! You didn't even invite me properly, and yet you told her that I'd be going? How could you!"

"Don't worry, Potter," snapped Pansy, "I wouldn't let the likes of _you_ into my _super-exclusive_ wedding, no matter how close Draco is to me!"

Draco could not let this injustice slide. "Oh come on, Pansy, you're letting _Blaise_ take his date, so why can't I—?"

"Hey!" shouted Harry, "I'm not going, Malfoy, you can just go alone—!"

"ENOUGH!"

They all turned towards Blaise, who was clutching his head and screaming in a most undignified fashion.

"I am having an emotional crisis right now, and I demand that all of you shut the hell up and commiserate with me! Whatever the hell is going on with Draco and Potter can just _wait_, because I am living in fear for my bollocks right now, and I need help _now_!"

There was a stunned silence. Then Pansy snorted.

"Honestly, Blaise, we were all just trying to have a conversation. There was no need to yell and screech like some sort of wild animal."

Draco and Harry nodded in agreement.

"I—you—"

"Can we get through this today, Zabini? I would like to get back to dinner," drawled Harry, in such a close approximation of Draco's drawl that he felt a burst of pride in his chest.

"ARRGGHHHH you guys are impossible!"

"No, I'd say we are all pretty possible, considering that we are standing right in front of you right now," quipped Draco.

"Well, _I'm_ technically not standing in front of you, but that can be easily remedied." Pansy stepped through the fireplace, swirling her midnight robes dramatically. "Now, now, Blaise. Tell Mama what's wrong." She reached over to pull him into a mock-embrace, but he shoved her away.

"You're my ex-girlfriend, Pansy, not my 'Mama'! That's just disgusting."

"Yeah, you're right," she conceded. "I could never marry seven men."

"Draco," whined Harry into his ear as the other two continued to bicker, throwing complicated insults that involved all varieties of cuss words and metaphors and innuendo. "Do all these Slytherin conversations usually take this long?"

"Oh please, Potter, this is only the tip of the iceberg. Sometimes, our verbal battles of wit can last all night."

"Alright, everyone, pay attention to me again!" cut in Zabini. "I'll explain why I'm here, just look at me! Please?"

They looked. He really did look horrible and emotional. Even Harry, who was probably used to being surrounded by horrible-looking emotional people every time he visited those Weasels, had to wince.

"Okay." Blaise sucked in a deep breath to start his story. "So tonight was my first date with Ginevra—"

Harry interrupted, his gorgeous eyes wide with disbelief. "She actually _agreed_ to go on a date with you?"

"Did she turn out to actually have a prick?" snarked Pansy, sniggering.

Draco choked on his laughter. "_Pansy_, that's disgusting—"

"IF YOU THREE INTERRUPT ME AGAIN I WILL HEX YOU."

They shut up and waved at him to continue.

"So it was going alright, but then guess who was there in the same restaurant?"

None of them wanted to get hexed, so they stayed silent. He nodded approvingly at them and continued.

"It was her brother, Ronald or Robert or whatever! And he was there with Granger, proposing!"

Harry, the fool, couldn't hold in his exclamation. "Oh my god, they finally did it!"

Pansy turned green and covered her mouth. "Urgghh, now they'll have Weasel babies, how _gross—_!"

Draco sighed as his two fellow audience members were immediately hit with rash-inducing hexes. Honestly, was he the only one that ever learned his lessons?

"Come on, Blaise," he said, as the other two writhed on the ground, scratching their skin off. "I'll get the healing salve, and you can continue your story to me as we walk, since I was supposed to be your original audience, anyway."

And so they walked off to his medicine cabinet, with Blaise recounting the horribly embarrassing events at the restaurant. Draco nodded at every detail, trying to make sense of it and planning several potential revenge plots, until Blaise reached the part about how Granger saved him.

"Hm. That's very interesting," said Draco, nodding his head sagely.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. That means that at least one of her friends might be on your side, which will make things somewhat easier. And did Ginevra herself seem to object to the date?"

"Well, she wasn't exactly sunshine and rainbows about it, but she did give me a chance, and she probably would have kissed me back if I didn't have to run away."

"Mm. Blaise?"

"Yes, Draco?"

"I think you're going about this all wrong. I think, instead of trying to curry _her_ favour, which is really something she's probably bound to give you eventually, given the evidence from tonight, you should be trying to appeal to her family first."

"How do I do that?"

"Simple. You visit her parents and formally declare your intent to Court her. As easy as it is to forget sometimes, they _are_ purebloods."

Blaise nodded thoughtfully, as if he were really considering it.

Draco tossed a jar of healing salve at him. "Come on. You heal Pansy, and I'll heal Potter."

"What—"

"It's _your_ hex, after all. Just be grateful I'm not making you heal both of them."

"That's only because you don't want me touching your boyfriend, you ponce! And speaking of that, will you care to explain to me just how you two got together in the first place?"

Draco smiled and nodded as the two of them bent down to take care of the ailing idiots on the ground.

Even though it was not the romantic evening he had planned for today, it had at least been a very entertaining one.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **Hello everyone! No, I did not die or spontaneously decide to abandon this story. It's just that university has been eating me alive, and I highly suspect that that is what has happened to my beta, too. Hang in there, Asebi! And thank you for all your hard work! Please forgive me for posting this before you can give me an official thumbs-up. And good luck with that poetry contest you've set up!

Anyway, to the rest of you, here you go! I'll be working on the next chapter over time; I still have a lot of catch-up work to do in school, but I will continue this story. All your comments and support have encouraged me, and they will continue to bolster my morale until this is finished :)

* * *

_Chapter Nine—All's Fair in Love and War_

Hermione lay in bed, leaning against the headboard as she read a good book. This was her favourite time of day, really, this hour or so right before she went to sleep. After the stress of a long day at work, it was nice to be able to unwind and let the knowledge flow into her head. She had long since learned to read very fast and very effectively, since life was full of interruptions.

One of those interruptions was named Ron Weasley, but he was too busy moaning to himself about the events in the restaurant, so she was spared that interruption for now.

She smiled to herself, discreetly admiring her new ring as she turned the page. It was exquisite, made of white gold and containing a single, perfect diamond. She had never liked large, gaudy things, and since her fingers were very slim and very delicate, it was kind of nice to have a ring that didn't weigh them down, and it was nice to have a ring that didn't get in the way of her work. Ron could be pretty thoughtful, sometimes.

But other times…

"Oh, Hermione, how could you? Just…how could you?"

She sighed, placing her bookmark in between the pages and setting the book on the nightstand beside her. He had finally stopped ranting and raving to himself and had started to rant and rave to her.

Turning to him, she noticed that he was lying in bed next to her but facing away from her, which was rare. Ron was the kind of person that liked to have people right in front of him so he could focus when he spoke to them. Well, unless he was eating, but then again, one could argue that when he was eating, he was basically having a conversation with the food.

But he was not eating right now, so his not facing her was a bad sign.

"Ron…" She placed her hand on his shoulder, but he flinched away from her touch. She winced. He must really be upset.

"Look, Ron, I'm not happy about this, either."

"You sure seemed happy when you _tackled_ me. Don't do that ever again, by the way. Only _I'm_ allowed to tackle people!"

She couldn't help but smile a bit at this declaration. "Why? Because you're the Auror trainee and I'm not?"

"No! Because I'm the hero, and you're the…the…bad guy helper."

She stifled a laugh. "Oh, Ron! I wasn't trying to help him. I was trying to protect you."

"I could have handled him myself!" She could almost _hear_ the pout, which only amused her further.

"I know you could, Ron, and that's why I had to stop you. Think about it. If the people at the Auror Academy found out that you attacked someone without apparent provocation—and I'm sure Zabini could have made it look like there was no provocation—you could have gotten kicked out! Remember what almost happened to Harry?"

"They let _him_ off the hook. Why not me? I helped to save the world, too!"

"Yes, but they can't keep letting people off the hook. That was a one-time deal. If anyone, even Harry, messed up again, they'd have to expel them."

"It's not fair."

"I know, Ron." She stroked his ginger locks soothingly.

"So…you really only tackled me to protect me from expulsion? You weren't on his side?"

"Well…" She took a deep breath. "Well, I'm not exactly on his side, but I think attacking him right now would be too hasty."

"_What_?"

"I know it's hard to remember, Ron, but Ginny's an adult now. She can make her own decisions now. She made the choice to break up with Harry, and she can make the choice to date Zabini if she wants, and besides, it seemed like a first date to me. We don't know if it'll last at all. She might even decide that he's a prick and never want to see him again. But what she won't appreciate is you trying to scare off all her potential suitors before she gets the chance to see for herself if she wants them."

"B-But it's Zabini! What if he spikes her drinks with love potion? And look at his mum! Marrying seven husbands, each of them dying _'mysteriously.'_ Am I supposed to just wait here for the same thing to happen to Ginny?"

She grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn and face her.

"_Ron_. People are not their parents. I thought we already went over this with the Harry and Malfoy situation."

"Well, I'm rethinking _that_, too."

"Ron…"

"I'm sorry! Why does everyone insist on thinking everything is normal? Slytherins suddenly appear in our lives, _dating_ our loved ones, and we're supposed to think this is okay? What's next? Is Nott going to go after Neville, too? Is Parkinson going to seduce Charlie?"

She couldn't help it. She had to giggle.

"_Hermione!_ I'm being serious here!"

"Ron, we're not in Hogwarts anymore, okay? We are all adults, and we have better things to do than to plot everyone else's miseries. Harry is more than strong enough to eviscerate Malfoy the moment he finds him to be anything less than honest with him, and Ginny's a formidable force, too. Part of loving them is _trusting_ in them to take care of themselves sometimes, especially when it comes to their love lives. If things do fall apart in those relationships, well, they'll move on, and we can later on gloat and say 'I told you so.' Okay?"

He sighed and nodded in resignation. "Fine. But can we say 'I told you so' in the loudest, most obnoxious way possible, if it happens that we were right?"

She grinned. "I know a few spells."

"That's why I love you, 'Mione." His face relaxed into a warm, loving smile, and she remembered why she put up with his nonsense.

She turned off the light and pulled him in for a passionate kiss.

* * *

Harry woke up in an unfamiliar bed, facing an unfamiliar wall, and he panicked for a moment before he realised that there was a warm arm wrapped possessively around his abdomen.

He smiled. Draco.

After the chaotic intrusion of Parkinson and Zabini, Harry had not been in the mood for sex, especially since a lot of the Zabini-inflicted rashes were uncomfortably near his fun bits, but Draco seemed to understand. Once the two menaces had left the flat, he and Draco had simply finished their dinner and gone to bed, snuggling and holding hands and basically doing all sorts of cute things that he was sure that Draco would deny in the morning.

Heh. To be honest, he had not liked the idea of getting involved with him at first. After all, Harry was straight! He had only ever been into women, and he did not see the appeal of men at all. Men were…well, manly. Full of testosterone and loudness and the need to prove themselves as worthy protectors. And even the quiet ones were obsessed with the idea of their worth as a man; just look at Neville, for Merlin's sake! Running out there to slay a snake with a giant sword! Everyone knew what _that_ meant.

Of course, Harry was very grateful for Neville's devotion and bravery, for it saved their arses, but still. He had not thought he could handle that in a relationship. He had wanted to be the protector, not the protected.

But being with Draco taught him that it had never really been the gender that Harry had a problem with, and he did not actually hate the idea of being protected. It was really that he had a fear of being emasculated. Harry had spent his whole childhood and adolescence under someone else's control, and he was terrified of doing that for the rest of his life.

In retrospect, though, being with Ginny would have been more of the same. She had a lot of specific goals in her mind, and she wanted a lot of things that he could not comfortably give her. After the war, he had a lot of wounds, and instead of healing them, she was more focused on her own wounds, and she had expected him to be focused on them, too. Which did not make her a bad person, of course, but it did make her a bad girlfriend for him. He had felt stifled, for she had held her own form of control over him. It was better to be her friend and keep a bit of breathing space between them.

Whereas Draco…

Well, Harry was not completely sure yet. What made him think that Draco would be any better? Sure, he seemed more polished and composed, but maybe that was a front. Maybe he had a dam waiting to burst, too, and then Harry would drown under it all. Indeed, Draco had gone through a lot more horrors than he did. The wounds ran deeper. And what if he decided he wanted to control Harry, after all, in order to have the heady power of being the Chosen One's master?

But what Draco seemed to understand was space. He knew how to back off when Harry was _really_ uncomfortable and not just denying his own feelings to himself. Back when Harry had accidentally taken him to his flat, he had backed off when Ron came bursting in, because he knew that Harry hadn't been ready to share details with anyone yet. And when they had had that date in the Muggle restaurant, he had not asked Harry a lot of intrusive questions, instead preferring to sit back and listen to what Harry was willing to say. After the duel fiasco with Ginny, Draco had not tried to rip off his clothes for a bout of vengeful shagging, instead being content to just come in his pants, and even afterwards, they had simply parted ways and slept in their own flats, for he seemed to know that Harry wanted to be alone for the night. Yesterday, he had backed off due to Harry's physical discomfort.

Yes, Draco _was_ possessive, and yes, Draco _was_ pretty demanding in his own way, but he knew that Harry wasn't ready for a lot of heavy-duty…gay stuff…just yet, and he knew that Harry wasn't completely comfortable with this spontaneous relationship just yet. He was patient, and he took his time with his seduction, and Harry really appreciated that.

He appreciated it so much, in fact, that he was going to give him a bit of a reward.

He turned his head around a little and found that Draco was still sleeping. His eyelids fluttered and his arm tightened around Harry a little at his slight head-turning movement, but his breathing remained slow and even.

Hmm. Harry reached back with his hand and found the front of Draco's pants. He grinned and gently pulled the waistband, one side at a time, down his hips, being sure to do it slowly so that he wouldn't notice and wake up. It was very difficult to do so when he couldn't fully turn around and see what he was doing and when one of Draco's sides was pressed against the bed, but he managed to get the pants down to mid-thigh somehow without detection.

Ah, who knew that the former Death Eater would be such a heavy sleeper? Perhaps he was finally making up for all the deep sleep he couldn't get before.

Harry brushed the back of his hand against Draco's cock, which was unfortunately flaccid. Well, not for long, if he could help it. He continued, gently caressing it until it grew harder, and he grinned in triumph. Draco let out a soft moan, but he was still sleeping, it seemed, for the slow breathing continued. Harry hummed softly and caressed him some more before deciding that it was time to take it up a notch.

Just as he began to wrap his fingers around him, though, he suddenly found himself flat on his back.

"Harry," purred Draco, his face bearing down upon Harry's. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I _was_ going to give you a pleasant wake up call, but then I got interrupted," he grumbled. He pouted for good measure. He really did hate to be interrupted.

"Well, Harry, I _am_ awake, and it _was_ pleasant. I'd say you accomplished what you wanted to do," drawled Draco, smirking down at him.

"But I wasn't done yet," whined Harry, grinding against him for emphasis.

"Oh? Then I suppose I should just let you finish, hm? It's only the polite thing to do."

With that, Draco suddenly rolled off of him, lying on his back with his hands behind his head.

Harry gulped as he got onto his elbow, even as he enjoyed the sight of a completely naked Draco (and when the hell had he pulled off his pants, anyway? They were mid-thigh last time Harry checked). It had been exciting, the idea of bringing him off while he was asleep or mostly asleep, but the idea of doing it to him while he was fully awake was rather…intimidating.

"Scared, Potter?" he taunted, after Harry hadn't moved for long moments.

He snarled, moving forward and grasping his cock. "You wish," he sneered as Draco gasped.

"Well, get on with it, then, Potter," he said breathily.

Harry straddled him, brought his own cock next to his, and stroked them both, not allowing himself to be deterred any longer.

Draco grasped his shoulders, his eyes rolling back as Harry stroked faster. He gazed upon that beautiful face, at the eyes that were now closed in pleasure, and he felt amazed at the sight, because he never imagined that he would ever get to see his face like that. Sure, maybe there had been one random wank fantasy back in school when Harry liked to pick any random face to fantasise about, but even then he could not have possibly thought up this particular sight, because there was just nothing like it. There was no sneer, no smugness, and no sharpness. There was only surrender, pure, uncomplicated surrender. The frottage back at Harry's flat had been in the dark, denying him this beautiful sight. He vowed to remember this forever.

"Harry, Harry, _Harry_," sang Draco, and he grunted in agreement. He was close, too.

Leaning down, he pressed his lips against Draco's and swiped his tongue with his own, just as he gave a particularly enthusiastic upward stroke.

Draco moaned a string of what appeared to be profanity, but it was muffled by Harry's mouth, and that was the way he liked it. As Harry felt wetness coat his hand, he came, too, and they both froze into a perfect tableau of pleasure before they crashed into each other.

They panted heavily, with Harry staring at the pillows and Draco probably staring at the ceiling. That had been…amazing. Sure, Harry had had orgasms before, and some of them had even been with another person, but this was…this was really nice. It felt as if he had not been alone in his pleasure, that he had managed to share a mutual experience with someone that understood him, at least on a physical level. He had never felt anything like it with Ginny, and he wanted more of it. He wanted more of these experiences with Draco.

He smiled and opened his mouth to say, _I really loved this_.

But instead, since he was equating the pleasure with Draco in his mind, what came out was, "I really love you."

As Draco stiffened underneath him, he knew he was in for a world of trouble.

* * *

Blaise stood nervously in front of the famous Burrow. This was where Ginevra had grown up. This was where her whole family had grown up.

This was where her parents currently resided.

He had sent them an owl in advance, of course. He was not rude enough to just show up at someone's place without prior notice, especially not when he was interested in impressing these particular people. The return letter, however, had been neither encouraging nor discouraging. He pulled it out of his robe pocket to read it again.

_Mr. Zabini,_

_Come to the Burrow tomorrow at 8am. We will await you._

_Arthur Weasley_

Well, it was a good sign that they had not rejected his request to visit them outright. But the letter was not exactly warm and fuzzy, either, and it was devoid of all the pleasantries and flowery words that he had been used to seeing in his regular correspondence with other pureblood family members. He did not know what to make of it.

He moved forward on the pathway leading to the door, resolving to keep his cool, for he was a Zabini, damn it. Zabinis do not flinch from any amorous prospect, and they definitely do not balk at any obstacles thrown in the path of love. Just as he was about to reach the halfway point of the path, however, a voice boomed out.

"_Greetings, Mr. Zabini. You have come here for the purpose of Courting a Weasley daughter. As a fellow pureblood, you must be well-aware that each pureblood family has its own courtship customs that a suitor must respect."_

"_What_?" said Zabini, flabbergasted. He had thought that all courtship customs were the same for each family. Didn't the suitor simply come to the family, bearing a symbolic gift, and then send more gifts over time? That was what had happened with his mother.

The voice continued, putting on a haughty, prissy tone that made Blaise suspect that it wasn't really Arthur Weasley speaking the words, but rather, the boring Weasley brother, the one that once worked for the ministry. _Why_ that brother would be speaking in his place, however, he could not fathom, but the speaker was not as important as the words themselves.

"_You heard correctly, Mr. Zabini. We have not had the chance to do a Weasley courtship ritual in a while, of course, especially since we have had only boys for several generations, but we still remember how it goes."_

"Wait…wouldn't you have had to do this with Potter, too, then? How come I've never heard of this?"

"_Harry was practically our family, and we already trusted him, so no, he did not have to go through this custom. You, however, we do not feel comfortable with. We do not understand your intentions with Ginny. The purpose of this custom is to gauge your sincerity and your willingness to be with her and be a part of our family. There will be three tests. Do you accept?_"

Blaise cursed Draco in his mind for making him go to her family in the first place. Three tests! What if he did not pass them all? Was he to be forever barred from Ginevra, then? Should he just back away now and find himself another love interest?

As he had this dilemma, two tiny figures appeared in his mind's eye, one landing on each of his shoulders.

On his left shoulder was Pansy, wearing an obscenely short, low-cut red robe that left very little to the imagination, which was accessorised by a pair of red horns in her dark hair. Blaise raised his eyebrow, finding the vision attractive but also very threatening and intimidating.

"Blaise," she whispered seductively. "Do you really want to go through all this trouble? Like I said before, Ginevra is really not that special. There are plenty of other pureblood witches, and you probably wouldn't have to Court any of them, for their families would fall all over themselves to find a man like you, untainted by the war and the Dark Mark yet still pureblood. And honestly, this courting custom of theirs seems ridiculous. They are obviously dredging up some archaic rule just to chase you away, since they think that Potter had been the best choice for them."

He sneered at her. "I am much more superior than that imbecile."

"Exactly. Do you even want to bother with a family that thinks otherwise?"

"Well, I—"

"Blaise," purred the figure on his right shoulder. "What are you doing? I thought you promised to listen to _my_ advice on the matter."

He turned his head and saw a miniature Draco, dressed in shining white robes and outfitted with wings and a halo.

"_You're_ my angel?"

"Yes, Blaise, I know. As pathetic as it sounds, I am apparently the most angelic out of all your friends, which I suppose means I am the softest of all the Slytherins. Shame, I had rather thought Goyle was, but perhaps he is too dunderheaded to be an angel. Regardless, I am on your _right_ side, which means _I _am right."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Well, what's _your_ spiel?"

"My 'spiel' is that you're a Zabini, damn it. You deserve the best. And if you think that the Weaselette is the best, then by Merlin, you go for it. Where's your pureblood pride, damn it? You should be willing to face any challenge, especially a challenge of strength such as this. If you back down now, what will happen to your reputation? No pureblood family will ever let you near them if you go to them after this, knowing that you were cowed by the _Weasleys_, for Godric's sake."

Mini Pansy snorted. "Do not forget, Blaise, that you are a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. Drakey here may have had his brains addled by being shagged by a Gryffindor every night, but I, thankfully, have suffered no such mental impairment. We are all about self-preservation, damn it. If you go and do these stupid Weasley challenges and then hurt yourself beyond repair, then what will happen? Will the Zabini line die there? Will you fade from this plane of existence with a whimper, rather than a bang?"

Mini Draco threw his halo at her, and she shrieked as it hit her in the face, flattening it even more. "Confound it, Blaise! If you don't do this now, you will pine and regret it for the rest of your life! And who will have to listen to your incessant whining about it? _Me_. And I refuse to have to suffer through it, especially when I already have my hands full with Potter!"

"Haha! Are the rumours true, then? Is Potter really a _handful_?" sniggered Mini Pansy.

"Wouldn't you like to know, Pans?" smirked Draco.

"I wouldn't listen to the details about your man-whore even if you paid me!"

"You take that back! He is not a whore!" He tore off a wing and threw it at her like a boomerang, catching it again when she dodged.

"Nope, he's a _virgin_, which is even worse! Good luck trying to get into that tight arsehole of his, if it even exists after all the prudish clenching he probably does!"

Blaise shook his head violently as the two of them lunged at each other and began a duel to the death. He really needed a better conscience/temptation representation. The current one was very unhelpful.

"_Well?_" said the booming Weasley voice. "_Do you accept the tests or not?_"

Blaise swallowed a lump in his throat. Well, Mini Draco was right in one respect—if he did not do this now, he would forever wonder.

"I accept."

"_Good. Prepare to meet the first test_. Charlie! Release the gnomes!"

"What—"

But he was not able to finish his sentence, as dozens of gnomes rushed out from all corners of the garden to attack him.

The last thing he thought, before he had to brandish his wand and focus completely on the battle, was that the Weasleys were terrifying indeed, if they were able to turn a common pest into an army that attacked at will.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **OH MY GOD. I'm finally alive again. Let me tell you, finals week at any university is always brutal, no matter how nonchalant one feels throughout the semester. I'm so glad that horror is over, and I deeply apologise for the fact that it's taken me a million years to update.

It's summer now, though, so I have less excuses to dilly-dally with this story now, eh?

And don't worry, Asebi, even though I didn't send this chapter to you, I'll be sending you the next chapter for a beta check. I just happened to want to post this one up ASAP before my conscience ate me alive.

* * *

_Chapter 10—Bear with Me Here_

"I really love you."

Draco froze in shock underneath Harry upon hearing those words.

His mind split into several pieces.

One piece was screaming, _What the hell? What the hell? Love? It hasn't even been two weeks yet! Who the hell falls in love that quickly?_

Another piece was murmuring, _Well, you're courting him. Isn't this the result you wanted? Sure, it may be a bit early, but this is a good thing. Don't lie to yourself; you're starting to fall in love with him, too._

Yet another piece was shaking its figurative head, saying, _Stop jumping to conclusions. Look at his face. See if he means it or if it's just an accidental blurting out of post-sex nonsense._

So Draco forced himself to calm down and look at that infuriating face. Harry's green eyes were wide with panic, and he was biting his lip as if he had broken a china bowl and was afraid of the consequences. Yet there was also a defiant tilt to his chin and a faint flush forming on his cheeks, as if although he regretted blurting it out like that, he was not going to take it back, either.

Draco let himself smile, and he held his lover close to him, refusing to let him hide away from embarrassment.

"Oh, Harry! I'm so glad you feel that way!" he said into the air as he rested his chin on Harry's shoulder.

"Y-You are?"

"Oh, yes!" he cooed, stroking his shoulders. He was careful not to say the words back, though. When _he_ said those three words, he wanted to do it with intent. For now, he would just leave the Quaffle on Harry's side of the pitch.

Then he smirked as an idea occurred to him. "In fact, Harry, you saying that has given me the courage to do something with you that I've been wanting to do for a while now."

"Y-Yeah? What is it?" From Harry's breathless tone, Draco could tell that he expected some experimental sex position or something. He grinned. No, it was not that, especially since they had both just come. What he was about to say was probably the opposite of sex, and he couldn't wait to see his reaction.

"Harry, since I am courting you and since we are so committed to each other…I want you to meet my parents."

He snickered and tightened his grip as Harry flailed and tried to get away.

* * *

Harry scowled as he and Draco stood on the doorstep of the Manor. What the hell had possessed him to say the L-word to him? He had just gotten out of a long-term relationship, for Merlin's sake! And of course the berk would be unhinged enough to actually take the words seriously and use them as an excuse to force him to meet his parents! Ugh!

Then again, Harry reflected, his parents were very important to Draco, former Death Eaters or not, and if Harry's own parents were still alive today, he would probably want to introduce Draco to them, too.

Of course, he wouldn't have been crazy enough to introduce him to them _now_. What the heck was wrong with the prat?

Oh Godric, what if his parents hadn't changed at all? What if they still hated him and still viewed him as the bane of their existence? After all, a crazy noseless bastard had lived in their abode, constantly ranting and raving about him. What if some of those rants had buried themselves into their subconscious and they couldn't help but hate him automatically?

"Stop trembling, you idiot. My parents can sense fear, you know. It isn't wise to display it too openly to them."

Harry gulped. "I don't really want to do this. Can't we just go home? I'll meet them later on; now's not a good time—"

He made the mistake of looking into Draco's face. Grey eyes gazed at him, wide and trusting and vulnerable. W-Was that the sheen of impending tears? Oh dear.

What was he doing, flaking out like this? He was a Gryffindor, damn it! The least he could do was muster up the courage to see his own boyfriend's parents, especially when it meant so much to him.

"Fine. I'll meet them."

"Wonderful, Harry!" Draco leaned in and pecked his lips, and Harry blushed, deciding that some trials were worth enduring.

Draco knocked on the door.

* * *

Lucius stood straight as he made his way to the door. He had received his son's owl, and he wanted to make a good impression on his potential son-in-law.

No, he was not quite delusional enough to believe that Harry Potter marrying his son was a given. After all, it was very likely that Draco was simply using him to improve his position in Wizarding society and that he would drop him as soon as he turned out to be more of a liability than an asset. Lucius paused for two seconds to feel a rare glow of pride in his chest. Oh, yes, he had taught his son well. Always go where the power is, and cut your losses once the well runs dry. It was a lesson he himself had regrettably not learned well, but he was confident that Draco, equipped with his mother's better sense of composure and forethought, would one day grow up to be the best Malfoy yet.

He continued toward the door while still musing over his thoughts, for the hallway leading up to the door was very long. There was no need to hurry, since Draco would understand, and even if Potter noticed the long duration of the wait, it would only serve to convince him that the Manor was grand, indeed.

Finally, he reached the door and opened it slowly, relishing the fact that the hinge did not creak at all. Quality door hinges never creaked.

Draco smiled politely and bowed, and Potter immediately followed suit, his face flushing. Lucius gave a grim nod in return.

"My sons," he greeted, purposely making the last "s" ambiguous, if only to keep Potter guessing. "Come in. Your mother awaits you."

They made their way inside, and Lucius could feel Potter reluctantly admiring the finery of the wall hangings. Although his last visit to the Manor had been under….less than auspicious circumstances, Lucius was confident that the place was more than hospitable now, especially after the renovations and the removal of all traces of the Dark Lord's presence.

When they reached the living room, Narcissa rose from her comfortable seat by the fire and curtseyed in greeting. In truth, it was rather unconventional of Lucius to be the one to bring the guests in to meet his wife, rather than the other way around, but Narcissa had never quite forgiven him for his…missteps in the war, so he grudgingly allowed her to have what little dignity he could bestow upon and procure for her.

"Draco. And Mr Potter. How lovely it is to see you again."

Potter gave a stiff nod, his eyes darting around the room warily, as if looking for the nearest exit. Lucius bit back a smirk. It was rather amusing to see the Saviour of the Wizarding World act as skittish as a deer calf, simply from being in the presence of his betters. Perhaps the Malfoys were not so impotent, after all.

"Well, have a seat. It is just about time for tea. We can discuss family matters while we refresh ourselves, yes?"

With that, the four of them took their seats on the plush couches surrounding the glass coffee table, and Potter seemed to regain some of his composure once he held a delicate cup in his blunted fingers.

The ensuing conversation was slow and polite, with Narcissa taking the reins while Lucius gave the occasional sage nod. He had learned not to speak too much, since the war. It was far more beneficial and less risky to be the quiet observer, only speaking up when absolutely necessary. For now, though, Narcissa was doing a fine job, inquiring after Potter's health, budding career, and even those Weasleys he seemed to consider his next of kin. Lucius knew _he_ never could have managed bringing them up without making some sort of undignified face, but Narcissa acted as if the name really meant nothing to her. Perhaps that was even true. She was first and foremost a Black, after all, and the Blacks never had quite the same intimate animosity towards those blood traitors as the Malfoys did.

Finally, however, came the moment where Lucius was required to speak up and broach the important subject, the reason why he had allowed Potter into the Manor in the first place.

"Mr Potter…what are your intentions towards my son?"

Potter spluttered and gaped, but Lucius had purposely chosen a moment when he was not sipping his tea, so the couches and the carpet stayed unsullied by shocked spraying.

"I…" He looked over at Draco, and Draco looked back. To Lucius, Draco's face was remarkably blank, even better than he had taught him, but the expression must have meant _something_ to Potter, for he blushed and swallowed before speaking again. "I love your son, Mr Malfoy."

"Really." He tried to make himself sound unimpressed, for he knew from experience that Potter could not handle any failure to impress someone.

"Really! I, er, love him with all my heart! I intend to take this relationship seriously, I'll have you know!"

"Mm. So you are implying that your eventual engagement is a possibility?"

Green eyes widened. "Um…"

"Father," chided Draco. "It is too soon to mention such things."

"Son, it is never too soon to plan. I will not have my son rushing into a slipshod entanglement with no promise of permanence and endurance."

This was not strictly true, of course, for Lucius had been more than willing to let his son experiment and try out his options like any other warm-blooded young man without any more than the basic planning required in order to avoid scandal, but he liked to intimidate his son's potential suitors. The fact that Potter was male and so ridiculously famous made it all the more entertaining and enjoyable.

Draco understood his game, of course, and nodded. "You are right, Father. I apologise for questioning your judgment. Although we are not yet at that stage in our relationship, I can reassure you that I have already made some basic outlines for our potential future."

Lucius ignored Potter's gasp and the continuation of his spluttering. "That is good news, my son. A union, however, is more than just an engagement and a wedding. Have you considered the issue of children yet?"

"Yes," exclaimed Narcissa, clasping her two hands together. "Children! Even if you two are of the same gender, children are still possible!"

"Wh-What?" rasped out Potter.

Lucius picked up the thread of the conversation again. "I do not know what it is like in the Muggle world, Mr Potter, but two men can definitely have children in our world. One simply needs magic and willing participants—"

Potter unceremoniously clanked the teacup and saucer onto the table and leapt to his feet. "I apologise, Mr and Mrs Malfoy, but I hear the Auror signal. You can't hear it, of course, because it's very specialised and secret, but it's clanging in my head and I really must go! Bye!"

With that, he Disapparated.

Draco groaned, and Lucius frowned at him for groaning.

"What, pray tell, are you groaning about, Son? I thought that that was a perfectly reasonable topic to discuss with a man so insistent on being part of your life."

"Two men cannot have children together, Father; it is a physical impossibility for a man to carry a child in his body."

Lucius flushed despite decades of training in emotional control, thrown off by the horrifying image of a man swollen with child. "_No!_ I did not mean it that way! I meant that two men could definitely have children together with the help of surrogate mothers! In fact, if he so desires, he can father his own child, too, with the Weasley daughter, since she _is_ a pureblood, unfortunate political affiliations aside—"

"No! Not ginger babies! I'm going to be sick," moaned Draco, which caused Narcissa to immediately float over to him, cooing and caressing his even-paler-than-usual face.

She turned to Lucius, frowning disapprovingly. "Look what you have done with your careless wording, Lucius. Since our son is currently incapacitated, it is up to _you_ to go track Mr Potter down and clarify things."

"I think that that is highly unnecessary—"

"_Go!_" she hissed, her lips trembling dangerously and her eyes flashing lightning bolts at him.

With a dignified sniff, Lucius set down his tea, stood up, and Disapparated in a graceful swish of robes, off to search for his traumatised potential son-in-law. After all, if he did not repair the situation soon, his wife was going to be highly intolerable in bed.

* * *

Harry suddenly found himself on the pathway leading up to the Burrow, the first and only place he could think of when he was Disapparating away in a panic. It was funny how he still thought of this as his safe space, despite breaking up with the firmest connection he had with the place. Then again, he and Ginny _had_ tentatively patched up their friendship during the confrontation in his flat, so maybe it wasn't so farfetched that he was here.

As he made his way up the path, he wondered if he would even be welcome here. Even if Ginny was okay-ish with him now, would her parents be? What about her brothers, the ones who were not Ron? Or would they all be angry at him for "abandoning" their only daughter?

Lost in his thoughts, he almost crashed into what looked like a huge, writhing hill.

"What the heck?"

"MMPF! 'ELP! MMMMMMRGGHH!"

The "hill" was actually a pile of gnomes, which all seemed to be pinching and biting and growling on top of—

"Zabini?" That dark hand sticking out from between the gnomes, decorated with a fancy signet ring, was unmistakable. "What the hell happened to you?" He grabbed the closest gnome, spun it viciously around in the air, and tossed it far, far away over the fence.

"_Harry!_" boomed a familiar voice suddenly. "_Back away from the wannabe suitor! He has to complete his own test, or else it is void!_"

"Percy? What test?"

"_He who has come to court the only Weasley daughter must show himself courageous and resourceful enough to handle anything life throws at them!_"

"Er…Percy, I do not think life is going to throw gnomes at Ginny…"

"Shut it, Harry!" snarled another familiar voice. George. "You have no right to say anything after you left her to fend off unworthy suitors like this slimeball!"

"George, I'm sorry, I really am, but things weren't going to work out between us, anyway—"

"You could have tried harder! She loved you! She's always wanted to be with you!"

"I—"

"RAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGHHHHHHH!"

Harry fell as several gnomes were blasted away from the centre of the hill and sent on a collision course with his stuttering body. He brushed the gnomes off his face before they could get a good grip on him and looked up to see what had happened.

There, with smoke rising from his robes, stood Zabini, huffing and nursing a swollen, black eye with one hand and gripping his wand with the other, scowling at the sky that was now raining battered gnomes.

"Whoa," breathed out Charlie's voice. Harry glanced up and scanned the skies, but he really could not find any of the Weasley brothers. They must have been under a really strong concealment charm, probably with the help of Bill. "How did he do that?"

"There! I defeated the sodding gnomes! Are you happy now, you bastards?"

"How did you do that?" repeated Charlie.

"Magic," snarked Zabini.

"_Well,_" boomed Percy's voice. Harry rolled his eyes. Of course Percy would be the only one to amplify his voice unnecessarily while the other brothers could still make themselves heard at a normal volume; he already did the same thing with his ego on a daily basis. "_He has indeed passed the first test_. _As per the rules of courtship, he is to now go home and recuperate while we prepare the next test._"

"What!" snarled Zabini. "I want to meet Ginevra now!"

Harry heard George snicker at the name. "Sorry, lover boy, but 'Ginevra' is not allowed to see you until when and if you pass the tests. If you see so much as a single lock of her hair, the courtship is forfeit, and you give up any right to a relationship with her. Care to risk it?"

Zabini opened his mouth, undoubtedly preparing himself to make a scathing retort, but Harry was distracted by a sudden _pop_ behind him.

"There you are, Mr Potter," drawled Lucius Malfoy. "How is the Auror situation? You seem to have things under control now." He sniffed and glanced disdainfully at the fallen gnome bodies around them.

"Yes, I have, and I really must leave now, Mr Malfoy, because, you know, Auror reports and all that." He edged away, his heart pounding as the awful thoughts about swollen male bellies came back to him, the thoughts he had been trying to repress since the moment he Apparated here.

"You cannot, Mr Potter!" he intoned at Harry's retreating back. "We must clear up the misunderstanding you seem to have about childbearing and childrearing—"

That was all he needed to hear. "I'M SORRY, MR MALFOY, BUT I REFUSE TO HAVE DRACO'S BABIES, NO MATTER HOW MUCH I LOVE HIM, SO LEAVE ME ALONE! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"

With that, he Disapparated again, blocking out the sound of Malfoy's protesting voice.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the shell-shocked Weasleys, Zabini, and Malfoy, who were all gaping at the spot where Harry had been standing just a few seconds ago, a little beetle was crawling on top of a gnome's forehead, rubbing its antennae gleefully against each other as it took in the scene in front of it.

_What's this? A power-mad, post-war Lucius Malfoy, hell-bent on distorting the laws of nature in order to force Harry Potter to submissively bear his grandchildren? Ooh, I wonder what sorts of Dark magic must be involved. I wonder what sorts of Dark magic I can _invent_…_

The next issue of the _Daily Prophet_ was going to be very interesting, indeed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **Between writer's block and family issues, it's been kind of a rough week, but I managed to finish this! Yay! Now time for some comments and/or disclaimers (you can ignore these if you want).

Let me just say that in the universe of my story, the _Prophet_ is pretty omnipresent. Reporters follow Harry everywhere in different ways and forms, and same with photographers, so pictures are being taken even when Harry and whoever's with him have no idea, and I find that that happens in real life, too, especially among celebrities. Also, in this story, the _Prophet_ doesn't give a crap about social issues or being a moral standard or anything. When confronted with a story about a tragic event versus juicy gossip about Harry Potter, they will choose the latter, especially since everyone is still depressed about the war. All the serious stuff goes on the inside pages or may still make the front page but be shoved to the side, and Harry Potter's face will fill up the centre front.

In addition, I personally have nothing against male pregnancy and think that it would be wonderful for gay couples to be able to have a child that is biologically both of theirs, but in this story it's kind of fun to joke about it a bit, since it's such a common trope in the Drarry fandom, just like Veela!Draco.

And finally, I'd like to thank you all for your support! It's really great to write for you folks. :)

* * *

_Chapter 11—The _Prophet _Has a Field Day_

Ginny Apparated back to her inn room after another Quidditch tryout session, grinning and twirling her broom around in the air. Godric, she had missed flying—the wind in her hair, the fight against gravity, the sheer joy of tackling a challenge! After graduation, she had been mostly focused on moving in with Harry and planning the rest of their life together, but now that she was finally back to taking care of her own life and her own future, she felt _good_.

As she changed out of her flying robes and got ready for a nap, however, she could not help but wonder at her father's behaviour recently. After all, the reason why she was at this inn in the first place was because he had insisted upon it.

"Ginny, my dear!" he had shouted one morning at the Burrow as he approached her, crumpling a piece of parchment in his hands. "I know you've been having a rough time lately, so that's why it makes me so happy to hear that you're interested in trying out for professional Quidditch. I always knew you had some talent in you!"

"Thanks, Dad."

"Say…how about you go travel for a bit while you go to these tryouts, hm? Stay at an inn or a hotel or something. I'll foot the bill if you're low on funds."

"Wow, thanks, Dad, but…isn't it more convenient for me to just stay here? I don't actually need to be physically _close_ to the tryout sessions—that's what Apparating is for!"

"After a breakup, everyone needs a change of scenery. I know you'd never admit it, but I can see you moping around here!"

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are. Your mother and I are very concerned for your wellbeing, and we think it's best that you go out there and see the sights! Live a little! Sow your oats!"

"Erm, Dad, I don't think you really understand what that means—"

"Just go! At least a month. I'll cover everything!"

The crazed look in his eyes was what had finally convinced her to pack her things. Maybe he had actually _liked_ having an empty nest, and Ginny being around inconvenienced him?

Ginny shuddered at the thought of exactly why her presence would be an inconvenience. She did _not_ want to know what he and her mum got up to when the house was empty! Urgh!

Well, there was nothing wrong with getting away from all her problems once in a while. She really hadn't seen much of England yet, and the blokes around this village _were_ pretty good-looking.

Speaking of good-looking blokes…unbidden, the memory of Zabini's chaste kiss at the restaurant came back to her.

Oh God. She still didn't know what to feel about it, and looping the memory over and over again didn't really help.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to nap. This was supposed to be a respite, damn it. Everything was going to be fine. She was going to be fine. Just as long as she didn't think about idiotic, egocentric men. Or her parents shagging. Oh, god.

"One sheep over the fence…two sheep over the fence…three sheep over the fence…"

* * *

"Have a seat, Mr Potter," said the Ministry Mind-Healer that Harry was forced to see every two weeks thanks to the turning-Dudley-into-a-pig incident. He didn't remember his name, and he didn't bother to ask again. The man was an annoying, unwanted nuisance, and Harry was just going to call him "Healer."

He sighed and sank into the couch. Oh, the things he put up with for his career.

"First, we shall start with the preliminary magical check-up. Just standard procedure, you understand. It is to ensure that you haven't been Confunded or Imperioused or tampered with in any way."

"Alright, do your worst."

The Healer paused in his wandwork, his brow furrowing before he slipped his wand back into his pocket.

"Sir? Why are you putting your wand away?"

"Sorry, just need to take note of something." He pulled out a peacock quill and a scroll of parchment from his desk drawer and scribbled furiously.

"Of what? I haven't even said anything yet!"

"On the contrary, Mr Potter. You said, 'Do your worst.' I find _that_ very interesting, indeed."

Harry opened his mouth to ask why, but then he closed it again, feeling that the answer probably wouldn't be something he'd want to hear. "Whatever."

After a minute, the Healer set the parchment and quill aside and pulled out his wand again. "Okay. Time for the diagnostic spells."

Harry watched, transfixed, as wave after wave of colourful light washed over the top of his head. It felt very pleasant, rather like being in a warm shower but without the risk of water and soap getting into his eyes.

"Hmm."

Well, there went the pleasantness.

"Hmm?" Harry tilted his head questioningly at him.

"Hmm." Apparently that was all that the Healer was willing to say while observing the results of the check-up.

Five minutes later, with the waves of light still washing over him, Harry was clenching his jaw and gripping the fabric of his trousers through his robes. How long was this going to take? He was getting pretty damn tired of hearing that "Hmm" sound, and he hated not knowing when things were going to end.

As if able to read his thoughts, the Healer abruptly swished his wand, and the light disappeared.

"Hmm," said the Healer again.

"Hmm?"

"Hmm."

Harry threw his hands in the air and stood up. "Oh for the love of—"

"Have a seat, Mr Potter—"

"No! I happen to like people who _talk_ to me instead of making stupid, meaningless sounds!"

The Healer's eyes flicked frantically between him and the parchment, as if he were torn between physically restraining him and scribbling more observations.

"Good day, Healer." Harry made his way to the door.

"_Incarcerous,_" came the panicked cry.

Harry fell as the Healer yanked on the newly-conjured ropes and dragged him back towards the couch.

"Now," muttered the Healer as he settled Harry into the couch again. "You're going to stay put while I write down all my observations."

"Let me go!" Harry thrashed and kicked as much as he could, to no avail. "This is patient abuse!"

"I have direct orders from the Head Auror to use whatever means necessary to heal you, especially since you have been known to be a…_difficult_ one."

"_Difficult_? How the bloody hell have I been difficult?"

"Well, let us look at your behaviour from the past month alone, shall we? You destroyed property at Fortescue's, you topped over a fruit cart, you got _involved_ with a former Death Eater, you pestered and wasted the resources of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures without just cause, and, worst of all, you turned your own cousin _into a pig_. Which is exactly why you are here today."

Harry opened his mouth, complaints at the ready, but then he closed it. When one looked at things from that perspective, he had to admit that it _looked_ bad.

Also, he could not afford to counter every one of those accusations, because that would be tantamount to admitting that it was Draco who had turned Dudley into a pig, and that just would not do. Draco had been through enough trouble in his life as it was.

He slumped back into his restraints with a defeated sigh. Besides, the Mind-Healer was obviously unhinged, and maybe he could pretend to be a good patient in order to observe him and gather evidence for an eventual arrest?

Well, maybe not, but Harry could dream.

"Fine. You have a point. I'm sorry I lost my temper. I promise to behave and comply with the therapy sessions from now on, if that'll get this over with. Could you please remove the ropes, though? I'm not comfortable with being confined."

The Healer smiled and waved his wand. The ropes split and fell off before crumbling into dust, which immediately disappeared with the next wand movement. Harry raised his eyebrows, wondering if the man had had cause to use ropes on other people before, but then he cut off his train of thought, because no one wanted to know what this man did on his personal time.

"Alright, Mr Potter. I am glad to see you behaving like an adult now. Let us have a nice chat, shall we? Maybe we can get to the bottom of these anger management issues you seem to have…"

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy was pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand and clutching the _Prophet_ with the other, trying her hardest not to break something, even if her husband was a very tempting target right now.

"Sweetheart," she hissed, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction when he flinched too quickly to cover it up with his usually impeccable mask. She had trained him, over the years, to fear her terms of endearment. "Whatever ever happened to discretion, decorum, and dignity?"

"Aren't decorum and dignity technically the same—"

"_What is this? Why must my morning start off like this?_"

"Well darling, I cannot tell, since you are currently obscuring the headline with your grip—"

She flung the paper towards his face, but he unfortunately caught it with a swift movement without even wrinkling the paper. He was probably used to her throwing things at him. After all, they were in their bedchamber, and this was the one place where she could freely express her most frustrated and repressed emotions with impunity.

He scanned the article quickly, and if one were an uninformed peasant, one would not have noticed the subtle way his eyelid twitched or the way his grip tightened just the slightest bit, gently widening the area of the indents his fingers made in the parchment.

She was Narcissa Malfoy, however, so she noticed everything.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

He closed his eyes and swallowed, which was about as much weakness as he would ever show to her or anyone else, no matter how private their bedroom was.

"I apologise, but there was no way I could have—"

"Why did you let him splutter nonsense in the first place? Why didn't you immediately cast a silencing charm on him and Apparate him back here? Why did you let him have the first word? In this ever-shifting atmosphere of fast and pervasive media, every word counts!"

"Well, what do you wish for me to do?"

She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. With a simple question, he had reminded her that getting too upset was unproductive. Yes, a little anger was good motivation to take action, but any more than that would be excessive and time-consuming. There was a reason why the Weasleys did not have as much influence as they should, after all.

"I want you to find him again and bring him home. _This time_, act first, ask questions later. He cannot be trusted to speak until he is safely in the confines of our home. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I am sorry this has happened in the first place." He leaned close to place the paper gently on the vanity table behind her.

She gave a faint smile and leaned in to kiss his lips. Even though she was still upset, she knew that the best incentive for the atonement of his mistakes was gentleness and the promise of a reward.

She pulled away when he tried to deepen the kiss, however. She _was_ still upset, after all.

"I will prepare tea for the three of us. Please return in a timely fashion."

"I will, Narcissa. That I can promise you."

He Disapparated, and she smiled ruefully, turning back to the offensive headline.

"_HARRY POTTER: THE BOY WHO LIVED TO BIRTH NEXT MALFOY HEIR_"

It would have been so funny if it were not so horrendous.

* * *

Harry sighed, stepping out of the Mind-Healer's office and rubbing his arms, which were still sore from the rope-tying incident. Well, bonkers or not, at least the man was a good listener, and the "hmm" sound could be tolerated if it preceded some decent advice.

He still wasn't happy about having to see the man, of course, but it was the least of his problems.

"_Incarcerous!_" shouted a voice behind him, reminding him exactly what his problems were.

"Oh for fuck's sake—" he twisted around in the ropes and was somewhat unsurprised to see Lucius Malfoy's sneering face.

"Mr Malfoy. What is the meaning of this—"

He was immediately silenced by a charm.

"Listen here, Mr Potter, and listen closely, since you are finally unencumbered by your own ridiculous nattering. I am tired of these games, and I am tired of these misunderstandings. I am an old man. I have gone through two wars and lost both of them. Do you know what I would like to do now? I would like to get some rest and live out the rest of my life doting on my grandchildren."

Harry struggled against the ropes at the word "grandchildren," but Malfoy yawned and muttered, "_Petrificus Totalus,_" which put an end to his struggling.

"Honestly, it is obvious that you are an Auror trainee still yet. Regardless, I do not have the time to watch you bumble and fumble around. I am going to take you back to the Manor, my wife is going to give you tea, and we are going to discuss our future as well as fix the current media fiasco we are facing because of you—"

Malfoy abruptly stopped talking and turned to the side. In his immobilised state, Harry could not see what exactly was making Malfoy's eyes widen, but he recognised the rushing footsteps and had a good idea of what was going to happen next.

"HARRY! I'LL SAVE YOU!"

Harry watched, amused and grateful, as the elder Malfoy fell to the ground and out of his direct line of sight. From the sound of it, he was kicking and struggling under the weight of someone very ginger, freckly, and entirely offensive to his snooty sensibilities.

"Get off me this instant, cretin! I do not happen to share my son's proclivities, and even if I did, I would not embrace one of _your_ kind!"

"Sod off, you old codger! I can see what you're trying to pull! Kidnapping is a criminal offense, I'll have you know, and forced male impregnation isn't exactly in the law books yet, but I'm sure that's a crime, too!"

"I DO NOT WANT TO IMPREGNATE POTTER!"

"YOU MAY NOT, BUT YOU WANT YOUR SON TO!"

There was more scuffling and kicking, and then Harry heard the sound of the two of them rolling over. Malfoy was probably on top now.

"That is _it_! I have had enough of this needless abuse and slander! I am a Malfoy, and I deserve more respect than this! Narcissa can bloody well deal with this herself!"

Before either Harry or Ron could be shocked at the man's language, Malfoy Disapparated with a _pop_.

Ron sighed audibly, getting back up. "Well. I guess I need more practice in physical combat. But for now…" He undid the spells on Harry, and Harry stretched his arms and legs with a moan of relief. "For now, let's just go grab a pint and pretend that I _didn't_ lose to a sodding Malfoy, okay?"

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Okay. Thanks for coming to my rescue, mate."

"You can thank me by paying for all the liquid therapy I'll need."

"Deal."

* * *

Draco Malfoy was, yet again, dealing with a hysterical Blaise Zabini in his fireplace.

"_No_, Blaise, Potter is _not_ pregnant with my seed! I haven't even gotten that far with him yet! Besides, you know that that Skeeter woman is full of crap! Men cannot get pregnant, or otherwise your mother would have managed to impregnate one at some point! Merlin knows she has big enough bollocks for that!"

Blaise started wailing again, and Draco could feel a pounding headache forming.

"Fuck. Just. Get into my damn living room so we can talk. You're not only here to talk about my mating habits, are you? Pregnant men wouldn't make you _wail_."

Blaise tossed in some powder and stepped out. "No." He sniffled. "I'm here because I took your stupid bloody advice about formally courting Ginevra, and it's just so _hard_."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What, can't find the right gift to get her family?"

"Not that! They don't even want gifts, the overly proud bastards! They want to give me _challenges_."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "How plebeian."

"Exactly! But like you said, I can't just back down, or else other pureblood families would just laugh at me!"

"What? I never said any such thing!"

"You did! Or, well, a version of you did! You had angel wings and everything, and it was so weird!"

Draco frowned. "Blaise, are you inebriated?"

"No! I'm talking about—oh, forget it. Just help me? You know the Weasel brothers better than I do. What do you think they'll pull next?"

"Hmm. Well, I think—"

Draco never got to voice what he thought, because suddenly he was interrupted by an owl.

"Huh. The _Prophet_? Again? Must be some sort of special edition. Wonder what's so important?"

He unfolded the roll, only to faint and fall onto the floor upon seeing the picture.

"_RON WEASLEY AND LUCIUS MALFOY: THE SORDID AFFAIR"_

No son wants to see his father rolling around on the ground with another man that's not his spouse, and the fact that said man was a Weasley did not help one bit.

* * *

Narcissa sighed as she held a hysterical Draco in her arms.

"Please don't leave Father! I do not want a weasel as my step-father!"

"Draco, you _know_ that that article is as false as the impregnation one!"

"So…many…freckles…" he whimpered.

She looked up at the ceiling, praying for patience. Honestly, why was it so hard for men to just _communicate_? Were feelings really that repulsive to them?

Well, there was nothing for it. Lucius was definitely not going to deal with this problem anymore, if the way he had locked himself up in the library with a bottle of spirits was any indication.

It was time for a woman's touch.


End file.
